


Hail Sithis indeed, my child.

by halbromantisch



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Dark Brotherhood Questline, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Het, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, The rating will change when smut chapters will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halbromantisch/pseuds/halbromantisch
Summary: After Alduin's defeat, Elianne -a Breton dragonborn- is simply trying to get back to her life as an adventurer, and not let the trauma of her past adventures take over her.How in the hell did she end up a member of the Dark Brotherhood, an organization she thought was no more than a scary legend?Hopefully, the nice yet eccentric jester will distract her from all this madness.Or will he?
Relationships: Cicero/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero/Female Listener (Elder Scrolls), Cicero/Listener (Elder Scrolls), Mjoll the Lioness/Aerin
Comments: 38
Kudos: 30





	1. Are You Dead Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Why has the Cheydinhal Sanctuary not yet been purified?  
> Everyone based out of that location must die!  
> Only then will the Black Hand be satisfied.  
> Hail Sithis indeed, my child.  
> (my title was inspired by the masterpiece "Flex Like Sithis" by young scrolls on Youtube lmao: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pfgf1ACDZFA&ab_channel=youngscrolls)
> 
> ‐----------------------------------------------------
> 
> This fic was originally my daydream fantasies with Cicero in my head but like, written down in words. And I added stuff to make kind of a plot.  
> For this reason, Elianne is basically a self-insert. I tried very hard not to make her a Mary Sue but please call me out if it seems like it.  
> The reason I called her Elianne is because i work in a daycare and i was writing some chapters while I was watching over the kids during naptime and i was like "how do i call my OC?" and i looked to my left where a toddler called Éliane was sleeping (I live in a french community so all the kids have french names) and I thought "how would that name sound if it was englishified?" and i came up with "Elianne" which i thought sounded pretty cool. Since it's of french origin, I decided to make her a Breton cause they all have french sounding names.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------
> 
> I made a playlist on spotify for this fic. Each song represents a chapter. Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7p0nmpun93kqwGEqJASEhN?si=H5uSMoieSCi0cMBLw6pu1w

“This was a necessary kill”, Elianne repeated to herself like a mantra as she walked through the empty Riften marketplace. “It was for the better, I did it for the children.”  
She had checked a thousand times already, but she turned her head around again for a quick last glance at the place. Not a soul in sight. With a silent sigh of relief, she crossed the bridge over Elgrim’s Elixirs and finally reached Honeyside. She found the house key in her pocket and forced herself to unlock the door slowly, even though her hands were trembling and her heart was racing, screaming at her to get in as soon as possible. She managed to enter without making any sound. Well, Iona had not slashed her throat yet, so she assumed she had been able to get in without waking her up. Elianne had told her she was going to stay the night, but she never mentioned her little plan. Her housecarl was not supposed to know. Nobody was.

She removed her cloak and tossed it on the brown leather chair in the corner of the room before crawling back into bed. She could still feel her heart beating faster than usual.  
This was not her first kill. Far, far from it. She stopped counting the amount of lives she had to take when she realized it was simply part of the whole “adventurer” lifestyle. It quickly became a normal, mechanical, robotic act. Routine. Elianne remembered how mad she was at Mjoll when she assured her that she would “get used to it” with time. Out of all people, Mjoll was the last one she expected to have that kind of opinion. The woman she admired the most, the one she was looking up to, the one she was trying to become everyday. That woman told her she would “get used” to killing. Elianne found it laughable how, mere days later, she was already washing the blood off her sword the way she was washing dirt off her clothes. Even though she hated to admit it, Mjoll was right. You get used to killing. However, those kills were always necessary. They were done out of self-defense. This one was different. This one was a choice… and would very much probably not be approved by Mjoll. *** “Let us not get involved in this mess”, the lioness told her the day before as they were leaving the Aretino residence. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this… with the black sacrament and all”, she added as Elianne remained silent. The poor Aretino boy was clearly out of his mind, mentioning “a dark brotherhood”, as if it was some kind of professional organization. The Dark Brotherhood does not exist. It is but a creepy legend people tell to scare children. At least, that is what Elianne had concluded, after her time in Skyrim.  
The boy was surely having a psychotic episode. Understandable, considering he was all alone, no more family, and he had just escaped from an abusive orphanage... However, if what he confessed about Grelod was real… There was no way she could live knowing that woman was alive. There were many things Elianne was able to accept and forgive. Unfortunately, child abuse was not one of them.  
After a moment of silence, Elianne finally agreed with Mjoll, and both women headed to the stables, outside the city. She did not let Mjoll know, but the whole carriage ride, she was not able to think about anything other than Grelod The Kind.  
Her daughters, Sofie and Lucia, were the fuel to the fiery rage she felt against the old woman. Had she not had the money to offer them a roof to sleep under, Grelod's orphanage is most likely where she would have taken them. She felt glad knowing they were safe and sound in Heljarchen hall in The Pale, under Gregor’s protection. Nonetheless, some other kids would still be stuck with Grelod. Even if they weren't Elianne's, she still thought it was unfair for them.  
She decided to pay the orphanage a little visit when she would arrive. Just to make sure.

The midday sun was shining bright when Elianne and Mjoll arrived in Riften, earlier this day. After several days spent in Windhelm, solving that damned butcher murder, Mjoll suggested they take a couple days off, and Elianne was not against the idea. She would have preferred to spend the day home, with Sofie and Lucia, but it was Mjoll's turn to spend time with her family. Elianne had noticed, lately, the usual signs her companion demonstrated when she was in need of her lover. The irritability, the lack of focus in battle, the insomnia... Elianne had said nothing, not wanting to upset her friend, but the symptoms had been particularly strong these last few days. Aerin was in for one strong, passionate night.  
Her love life was one of the few things Elianne did not envy Mjoll for. It did sound beautiful whenever the lioness tried to explain to her how it felt to be in love, how different intimacy feels when you do it with a lover. Sure, Elianne believed it. However, she wanted nothing to do with the inherent weakness that came hand in hand with it: there is no time to get distracted when you need to fight for your life, there is no time for grief, no time to think of anything other than surviving and winning. Elianne found it already hard to be away from her adopted daughters so often, the only two people she truly loved, other than Mjoll. A lover was simply out of the question. "As if the dragonborn had time for this kind of foolery", she always thought.  
Elianne was not completely mad about spending the day in Riften, though. She had fire salts to deliver to Balimund and some flowers for the young Black-Briar girl at Elgrim's. The Honourhall orphanage was also very conveniently located in the city. She thought a little visit, at least, was in order. It would hopefully let her know what pushed a child to perform nothing less but a black sacrament against the old hag. Whatever that sacrament meant.  
After running her errands around town, she stopped for a snack at Honeyside, the little house she bought in the city. Considering her lifestyle, owning several houses throughout Skyrim was extremely convenient: especially when they were protected by a housecarl. Elianne sometimes felt bad for her housecarls who were stuck inside a house when they were probably dreaming of living a crazy life of adventure. She tried to reassure herself by thinking that this situation was at least providing them with a fully furnished house to live in, in which they can do whatever they want, whenever she is away.  
She knocked before entering, and smiled when she saw Iona hunched over the cooking spit. Out of her four housecarls, Iona was not her favourite, but she was definitely the best cook. She had a way of mixing the spices and the flavours in ways that made Elianne eat out of pure pleasure and not out of necessity. If Iona was frigid and awkward on the surface, at least her comforting cooking was able to bring a minimum of warmth into the house, making the energy more bearable. 

“Honour to see you again, my Thane.”

Elianne tried not to roll her eyes at that stupid phrase she heard so often. Was there even some meaning to this saying anymore? She was genuinely happy, however, to see her Riften housecarl and eager to devour whatever she was cooking. After a little bit of small talk to catch up and three bowls of stew --and a very probable stomach ache in the near future--, Elianne headed towards the wardrobe, near the bed. She knew there were some pretty clothes in there that came with the furnishing of the house. If she had to pretend she was a single woman looking for adoption to enter the orphanage, her armor and weapons would not add to her credibility. She quickly stripped off her armor and put on the first dress she saw inside the closet, hoping it would fit. It ended up being a bit loose on her, but she took this as an advantage to hide her blade in there. Hopefully, she would not need to use it. Yet. 

Elianne tied her thick brown hair with a ribbon to her side, and put on a hat she found inside the closet that seemed to match the dress. Satisfied of her casual look, she decided it was finally time to head towards the orphanage. After quickly passing through the marketplace, trying to go unnoticed, she finally reached her destination. For the first time, she realized “Honourhall Orphanage” was actually written on top of the door, in metallic letters. It was not her first time in Riften, but even after so much time spent there, she still had never noticed it before. The black iron letters seemed to fade away with the dark brown wooden background of the walls. Just like the place in itself seemed to fade in the background of the entire city, in general.  
As soon as she stepped foot inside the building, she could feel three little pairs of eyes glaring at her from the ajar room. There was a palpable shift of energy in the place: it was as though they all simultaneously froze in place. She assumed they did not have visitors very often. A pretty Breton lady who called herself Constance greeted her, but informed her, with visible dismay in her voice, that the children were not up for adoption at the moment.  
Elianne furrowed her brows. What was the point of an orphanage if the children could not be adopted? 

“Can I still see them?” Elianne insisted. “If adoption ever becomes available, I will have at least gotten to know them before choosing one.”

Constance was bouncing on her feet, looking down, visibly uncomfortable. She stared at what seemed to be the back of the room where the children were.

“Okay,” she finally said, “but quickly”.

She led Elianne to the main hall, where the children were doing heavy cleaning chores. They all stopped whatever they were doing and bolted to her side. She was overwhelmed by greetings and questions from the children, when Constance finally intervened.

"Children, not all at once!" she said in a soft yet firm voice. "Miss Elianne is here for a brief moment to get to know you. Please, be nice to her."

"How many are there?" Elianne asked, while smiling at the little blond girl already holding her hand, as if ready to leave with her at any moment.

"We currently have four children. There's Runa just there, to your right, then Samuel and Hroar."  
She pointed to two little brown haired boys. Elianne felt her chest tightening when she noticed how slim and frail their little figures looked under the dirty rags they used as clothes. 

"Where's the fourth one?" Elianne asked, looking around.

"In the chamber," the little blonde one replied, still holding onto her hand.

"The chamber?"

"Yeah," Hroar said, "the place where Grelod takes us when-

“FOR CLEANING SUPPLIES,” Constance shouted, interrupting the boy.

Elianne turned around to meet Constance's eyes. She smiled timidly.

“Yes,” she continued, “Grelod wants to make sure the children know how to execute basic house chores, so they can develop their autonomy.”

Elianne kept her gaze on Constance, but the latter was now looking at the ground. A loud thud came from the back of the room and made all of them jump. Elianne saw an old gray-haired woman coming out of the room, gripping a young blond boy by the arm. The poor boy’s eyes seemed empty, his face completely emotionless. What had she done to him?  
The thought barely had the time to occur in Elianne’s mind when the old lady screamed in horror, letting the boy fall down on her side at the same time.

“Constance!”, she yelled at the young Breton, while walking towards her.  
The old woman’s face was red with anger when she grasped Constance’s arm, the same way she did with the boy. Elianne brushed her fingers on the sword, hidden at her side under the dress.  
“What were you thinking letting strangers enter? What is wrong with you?”

Constance was shaking, and Elianne could see the children clinging together on the ground next to a bed, as if trying to hide from the scene.

“I’m sorry, Grelod, she just wanted to meet the children, I didn-

“NO!” the old hag shouted, mere inches away from the young Breton’s face. “We’ve talked about this, you little skeever, how many times will I have to tell you?”

Constance was still trembling under the old woman’s claws.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, wiping the tears from her eyes with her free hand.

Grelod let go of her arm and turned towards Elianne. 

“You,” she said, approaching. 

Elianne did not move an inch. The old crone was not scaring her.

“You are going to leave,” she simply said to Elianne. “You are going to leave and never come back.”

Elianne had to physically restrain her arm from reaching for the sword inside her dress and slash Grelod’s throat right then and there. 

Not now.

“GO!” the old woman shouted impatiently, pushing her towards the front door.

Elianne gave a last quick glare at the woman, making sure she could see, only from her eyes, how much she wanted to hurt her. She opened the door and headed back home, trying to walk normally without trembling from rage as she passed the marketplace.  
She understood, now, that Aventus Aretino was not entirely psychotic. His whole delirium about a dark brotherhood was strange and so was his gruesome "sacrament", but he was at least telling the truth about Grelod. At this moment, Elianne had made her choice.  
Grelod had to die.

***

It had been over an hour since Grelod had stopped breathing, and Elianne was still unable to sleep. She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling, eyes still trying to adjust to the dark. Her mind replayed over and over again the sight of Grelod snoring inside the sheets, dreaming, unaware of what was coming. She remembered the weird feeling of Grelod’s body writhing under her as she pushed the pillow onto the old hag’s face. Elianne could not focus on anything else other than pushing, pushing, pushing harder, with her hands, with her lower body, to muffle the screams, to cover the sounds of the bed creaking. She had even thought of unsheathing her sword and getting it over with faster. A quick slash in the throat perhaps? Or a fierce pierce in the chest? “No,” she had thought, “they will hear her scream if I stop pushing”. Just as the thought occurred, she felt the body under her suddenly softening. There was no more resistance. That is when she knew it was time to flee. Thinking back on it, she congratulated herself on choosing the pillow instead of the sword; After all, she did this for the children, and the murder scene would have scared them, if not completely traumatized them.  
She had no idea whether she would tell Mjoll. Or the girls. Would they even understand? Would they hate her for it? She grimaced, physically hurt by the idea of her favourite people being mad at her. Her eyes started watering and she could feel a tear slipping down her cheek, wetting the pillow under her head. Did she make the right decision by killing Grelod? Part of her wanted to say no, that killing is never okay unless it is for self-defense. However, the other part of her was convinced Grelod had to die, for the greater good. Even though she was barely able to admit it to herself, she knew, deep down, that she did not regret her choice. For the first time in her life, killing had felt so goddamn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yu4MufP7fsg&ab_channel=JAP1995MRZONIE
> 
> I chose this song for this chapter because it represents the moment when Elianne kills Grelod. The violence, the rage she feels when she kills her, how she's ending this nightmare for the children. I thought it captured the emotions well.


	2. Bellyache

Elianne had been staring at the wrinkled parchment sheet for a whole minute already. She had been interrupted by a courier, as soon as she stepped out of the house. "We know", she kept reading over and over again. Who is "we"? What do they know? And why did they find it necessary to smash their hand in ink and slap it across the page?

She hated to consider this option, but she feared it had something to do with what she had done to Grelod, a couple of days earlier. She was almost certain no one saw her entering or leaving the orphanage. Even the guards, upon finding the old woman’s body, concluded that she simply died of natural causes, in her sleep. No one even mentioned a murder. In rumors, maybe, but Elianne did not listen to that. Anyway, she had been busy third-wheeling Mjoll and Aerin for the past two days: They went outside the city gates for fishing and hunting, while filling themselves up with Black-Briar mead. Elianne did not hate it. The two lovebirds were always good company, but she would have been able to enjoy herself more if she was not hiding a murder from them.  
She was glad to come back to Honeyside on the second night. It felt good to sleep in her own bed, instead of inside a rigid fur roll, in the tent next to her friends like she did the night before. The two women had decided to head to The Hold next to visit Halldir's Cairn, south west from Falkreath. A friend of hers at the Bard’s college asked her to retrieve a certain drum there if she ever happened to come near the cave. She had been eyeing the page about it in her quest journal for quite some time already, and she was happy to finally get down to it. 

Elianne had not told Mjoll about Grelod yet. She told herself she would, eventually, but the right moment never came.  
Elianne suddenly got dizzy, and had to grip the door knob to avoid falling on the ground. She just had an atrocious, horrible realization. What if it was Mjoll who wrote this? Or Aerin? Or both? Did they discover her plan? Was it their way of letting her know? Then again, a simple "we know" was not enough for her to guess if it was a positive or a negative response to what she had done. 

She lifted her head up in her daze and hurried to hide the paper in her pocket when she saw the Nord lioness coming towards her.

“Is everything okay, Ellie?” she asked Elianne, “You look anxious.”

The Breton swallowed hard and readjusted her hair-ribbon.

“Oh, I’m fine!” she answered, forcing a smile. “I was just spacing out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Elianne smiled shyly. Not the first time, indeed. Mjoll continued:

“I know I’m early, but there is something I need to tell you about.”

Elianne felt her stomach rising. She knows. She found out.

“Of course!” she answered, feigning enthusiasm. “What is it?”

She could feel the sweat in her hands wetting her gloves as she waited for her friend to answer.

"Me and Aerin have been talking…" 

That's it. They knew. She was going to say it.  
Elianne closed her eyes, knowing the words would hit hard.

"Well, I'm just going to say it simply," the lioness continued, "Aerin and I are going to get married."

Elianne's eyes flew right back open. 

"What?" she asked in confusion. 

"You heard right." The Nord smiled. "You're the first one I've told."

The Breton felt her muscles unclench as the news settled in. A wedding. That was all. A stupid wedding! She wanted to scream at how relieved she was, at how insignificant it seemed compared to what was in her mind at the moment, but she quickly caught herself. 

"Mjoll, that's amazing!" she said as she held her friend's hands in hers. Even though it was the least of her worries for the moment, she still felt genuinely glad for the woman. Her and Aerin seemed truly happy together, and her friend's happiness and well-being was something she honestly cared about. 

She started laughing. A laugh of relief, but the context could easily make it look like a laugh of joy.

"If I knew you'd take it so well, I wouldn't have been up all night with anxiety about the idea of telling you."

The Breton offered a little smile to the woman facing her.

"I'm sorry that I caused you distress," Elianne said. "But why wouldn't I take it well? How can I be saddened by this marvelous announcement?"

"Well, there's something else that this wedding entails…"

"What is it, dear?"

Mjoll took a deep breath.

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I think it is the perfect occasion… The time has come. I am retiring from my adventuring career.

Elianne felt all colours leaving her face. She forced her smile to remain, even though she just wanted to shout at the top of her lungs.  
She had not anticipated that.

"Of course," she answered while trying her hardest to not sound panicked. "That would make sense. I know it was in your plans and that it would happen, one day or another."

She let go of the Nord's hands and looked down, trying to compose herself, as she looked at the irregular wood pattern on the ground. She felt her chest and throat tighten, as well as her limbs getting fizzy.

She felt Mjoll's fingers against her cheeks, lifting her head up so they could lock eyes. Mjoll's calm glare and soothing voice seemed to be the quickest relief during moments of angst.

"Ellie, look at me. It's going to be fine. You are going to be okay. It has been more than a month since the last panic episode. You don't even need me anymore to calm down, you're doing it on your own, now!"

As weird as it felt to realize this, it was the truth. Whenever the memories of Apocrypha, Sovngarde, and the civil war crept back up into her mind, she would do the breathing exercises that Mjoll taught her, and eventually the feeling of imminent danger would go away. Elianne had been genuinely getting better and more in control of her thoughts in the past weeks. There is no cure for trauma, but it is possible to learn to live with it. And that is what she intended to do.

"It's going to feel strange without you," the Breton lady said with a weak voice, the retained sobs still hurting her throat.

"I know. It's going to feel strange for me too. There won't be a day where I don't think about you."

A moment of silence emerged, both ladies still holding hands and looking at each other with melancholic smiles.

"Do you know where you're going to stay once you are married?" Elianne asked.

"Yes, we will remain here, in Riften. Aerin's house is good enough. And there's a spare room for…"

The Nord lady put her hands on her belly, letting them rest there, peacefully.

Elianne gasped upon realizing what her friend meant.

"By Mara, Mjoll!" she exclaimed as she locked the woman in a tight embrace. 

She started smiling again, not forcing herself this time.

"Congratulations, I'm so happy for both of you! You deserve it so much."

"Thank you, my dear. Promise you'll write to me often," the lioness said as she ended the hug.

"As often as I can."

"I will send you an official invitation when the date will be settled. Your two little ladies are also invited, of course."

"I can't imagine how thrilled they will be when I tell them."

"Yes. I miss them."

"Me too. I better start packing and preparing my horse now, if I want to get to Falkreath before dark."

"Of course. You take care of yourself. And don't forget the breathing exercises. You will be fine. I'm not even worried for you.

"I know. You take care of you and your little growing family too. Farewell, my lioness.

"Farewell, my dovah."

Elianne was riding Nin, her faithful mare, without any sense of direction. She had abandoned going to Falkreath, and just decided to ride until the pain passed. She slowed down when she noticed Windhelm's walls in the distance. She did not realize she was going this direction, but she told herself she would go check up on the Aretino boy before crashing at the inn.

She found the boy curled up on the bed, his eyes wide open. He jumped when he saw Elianne and ran towards her to ask if she had done the deed. 

"Grelod is dead," she said simply.

The boy was ecstatic, jumping up and down while clapping his hands, telling her she was the best, and that she saved them all, and "Long live the Dark brotherhood".  
He was still stuck with this weird brotherhood delusion, apparently. He offered her a pretty silver plate, a family heirloom of his, in exchange for Grelod's death. Elianne appreciated the gesture, but she found it odd to receive "payment" from a child. An orphan at that.  
She found a pouch in her bag and filled it with gold.

"Take this and stay out of trouble," she told him as she dropped the pouch on the ground before leaving.

The warmth of Candlehearth hall was extremely welcomed. Elianne spent a long time next to the fire, savouring its sensation as the cold tingles in her legs and hand slowly disappeared. She did not even take time to eat, drink, or bathe. As soon as she started to yawn, she got up and went to her room, hiding away inside her bed. She did not even get the time to feel sad or anxious about Mjoll, about herself, or about the orphan boy. She just closed her eyes and fell into a deep, deep sleep, one she had not had in a long time.  
This weekend had truly exhausted her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all know what boutta happen next (don't give up yet, Cicero will be there soon, I just need to give my character a lil context and backstory)
> 
> Chapter Title inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKJ8egrWwOY  
> I thought this song represented exactly what Elianne felt in this chapter. She just committed a murder, and even though she feels glad she's done it, she cannot help but to feel guilty. She's starting to get paranoid, doubting herself.


	3. Disasterpiece

Elianne struggled to open her eyes, her heavy lids fighting to stay down. She blinked several times, trying to make the room less blurry. She was finally able to make out some wooden walls and ceiling. This was not her room… nor did it resemble Apocrypha, even her nightmare version of it. Why was she in there? How did she even get in there? She turned around and gasped, her heart threatening to explode inside her chest, when she saw a hooded figure sitting atop an empty bookshelf, its leg lazily dangling to the side.

“Sleep well?” the figure asked, in a soft feminine voice.

Elianne managed to speak despite the knot in her throat and the heavy sound of her heartbeat she could not ignore:

“What? Where am I? Who are you?

“Does it matter?” the woman immediately answered. “You’re warm, dry… and still very much alive. That’s more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?"

Elianne froze. So, this is related to her murdering the old hag? Who is she? How did she know? Why?

“You know about that?” she asked the woman, genuinely curious about how she could have possibly been caught. She saw no one, she made no sound. How did she know?

“Half of Skyrim knows,” the hooded lady answered, with a slight tone of amusement. “Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around. Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot.”

Yes, Elianne thought. This was exactly the reason that pushed her to murder Grelod.

“Ah,” the woman continued, “but there is a slight... problem.”

“A problem?” she inquired, half afraid, half wanting to Fus-Roh-Dah the woman off the bookshelf.

“You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill... that you stole. A kill you must repay.”

Elianne felt her vision going blurry again. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing to avoid passing out. The Dark Brotherhood. This stupid brotherhood Aventus was raving about...This organization was real? Not just a dumb legend people told naughty children to scare them? She could feel her palms getting sweaty, and her arms tingling. Oh, by Mara, what had she gotten herself into?

“You want me to murder someone else?” she finally asked, eyes still closed, focusing on her breathing. “Who?”

She still had no idea what was happening. All she knew is that she had to stay alive. She had to go back to Mjoll and the girls. Whatever it would take.

“Well now. Funny you should ask.”

The woman smiled and continued:

“If you turn around, you'll notice my guests. I've "collected" them from... well, that's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters. You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But... which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe... and admire."

Elianne felt her jaw clenching and her face turning hot. What sort of insanity was this? She looked around her and saw, to her horror, the three “guests” the woman was talking about. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and their heads were entirely covered with a thick black hood. She stopped and pondered for a moment. Was she really going to kill one of them? Play russian roulette with human beings? 

She did not even want to consider fighting the woman on the bookshelf. She had no idea what this Dark Brotherhood was really about, but she did not want to mess with their business again. She assumed killing one of their members could not end well for her.

“Am I to take your silence as acceptance?” the lady asked. “Then you know where we stand. Make your kill, and we’re square. Repayment of your debt is but a discreet knife thrust away.”

There was no other way around this. If she wanted to come out of this alive, she had to play the lady’s little killing game.

She sighed deeply and headed towards the first faceless victim. She poked their head, which made them squirm.

"What did I do?" they said in what seemed to be a man's voice. "Please, whatever it is, I'm sorry. I... I can hear you talking out there. Please, let me go. I've done nothing to you."

Elianne grimaced as a sudden urge to throw up appeared. This was an unusual situation for her. She was used to killing what she referred to as "bad" people. Killing to protect herself. Not killing random innocent people. There was no satisfaction in that, no gain, no benefit, just loss all around.

"Just tell me who you are and why you think you're here," she asked the man while she glared at the hood covering his face. 

" My name is Fultheim," the man replied in a rush, the trembling of his voice betraying the fact that he was terrified. "I'm a soldier. Well, mercenary, really. You know, a... a sellsword. I've lived in Skyrim all my life. That's all! I'm a nobody, really. So can't you just let me go? Oh gods, I don't want to die..."

She truly hated hearing him beg for his life. She did not want to take it. If anything, he reminded her of herself… Just a man living his life, killing when he has to. This man was not the kind of people she would feel okay killing. She still had two other choices, however. She pivoted to her right and poked the second victim's head. A woman, judging by her dress.

"I don't have time for this nonsense," the woman exclaimed as soon as Elianne touched her. I've got a home to keep and children to feed. Now let me out of here! Cowards! Stealing a woman from her home! For shame!"

Oh. A mother. 

"Who are y-"

"None of your damned business who I am!" the woman said, interrupting Elianne. "If you're going to kill me, just do it already! As Mara is my witness, if I didn't have this damned hood on right now I would spit right in your face..." 

This woman was definitely a pain in the butt. Yet, not enough for justifying a kill. She still had the third option.

"You," she said as she poked the third victim on the head. This one was a Khajit, if Elianne saw his furry tail correctly.

"Tell you what," the cat answered, "You release me, and I promise my associates won't hunt you down like an animal and butcher you in the street. It's a win-win." 

Elianne rolled her eyes so far behind, she almost saw her brain. She knew exactly the type of person he was, and she did not doubt how mediocre some fighters his associates would probably be.

"Just tell me who you are," Elianne asked, her patience running dangerously low.

"Ahhh…" he began, and Elianne could detect a smirk on his mouth, just from the way he talked. "Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters. Have you not heard of me? Perhaps I will have my people carve my name in your corpse, as a reminder." 

Elianne felt a wave of disgust travelling through her stomach, but she turned it into a low, raspy laugh.

"You had me at « defiler of daughters », you rapist asshole."

She punctuated that last sentence with the unsheathing of her sword, just before burying it deep inside the Khajit's chest, with one quick swing of her arm.

She heard him gasp for air as she pulled the blade back towards her. She enjoyed the little resistance she felt in her wielding hand, as if the cat's insides were gripping onto the blade.

His body fell face forward on the ground, and Elianne used the back of his clothes to clean the fresh blood off her sword. Thank Mara, a kill worth staining her blade.

She then turned around to face the brain behind this mad little game she just played. She heard the two other victims speak, but she did not want to listen. 

The lady was still sitting on top of the bookshelf, a big smile on her face.

"The conniving Khajiit," she said to Elianne. "Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him."

Elianne stared at her, daggers in her eyes. This woman was insane. Evil to a whole new level. Oh, how she would have wished she could have killed her instead! This is the kind of kill she would have taken her time with: making the bitch suffer before the final deadly hit. Watching her beg for death to come quicker. Making her pay for the shit she had done. It could not have been the first time this lady had pulled this kind of madness; she seemed so relaxed, so calm, just watching the scene from atop the bookshelf, as if she was watching a bard perform at an inn. As if it was nothing. Gods, she hated her already.

“ Hmph,” the woman said to Elianne, “when most would speak, you listen. You think. You understand that the only thing that matters is you following my orders. To kill.

Elianne laughed internally. The only reason why she followed her orders was to avoid being killed herself. Who did she think she was? Elianne refused to take orders from anyone, unless she wanted to and the reward was good. Yes, that also applied to daedric princes and other deities.

“Can I go now?” the Breton asked impatiently.

“Of course. And you've repaid your debt, in full. Here's the key to the shack. But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: « Silence, my brother. » Then you're in. And your new life begins. I'll see you at home."

Elianne got out the filthy shack as fast she could, and then began to look around, analyzing her surroundings. She saw Nin next to the building, looking healthy and not wounded -fortunately. She ran towards the animal and stroked its mane, delighted to feel a familiar sensation after the weird experience she just had. She climbed on its back and looked everywhere around her.

"Where the fuck am I?" she asked herself out loud. "A marsh area..."

Then it hit her. 

"Oh! Right."

She was north of Morthal, near the little piece of land she bought a while ago, as a condition to be Thane of the city. Elianne could not have cared less about this particular title (that she already received in several other cities), but she enjoyed knowing she was basically providing a free house to whichever housecarl they assigned to her. 

The construction of the little cabin she had paid for a couple months ago should have been finished by now, and her housecarl, Valdimar, well settled. She considered going there first, as she had promised Valdimar she'd come when she was around the area, but she finally decided not to. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. First, where had she been before entering the shack? Her latest memories were of Windhelm. She remembered seeing the Aretino boy, then sitting by the fire at Candlehearth hall before going to bed. The woman must have captured her in her sleep, then. But how in the hell was she able to transport her from the inn to the middle of nowhere in north-west Skyrim without getting caught? How did no one at the inn notice an unconscious body being transported? And what kind of powerful potion did she use for Elianne to remain in a sleep coma for so long? Also, she still was not able to accept the fact that the Dark Brotherhood was real. An actual thing. An organized group. She could not believe it, did not WANT to believe it. Not only that, but she was invited to join it.

All those questions and thoughts running through her head were enough to fill her up with the familiar sensation of uncontrollable fear that usually preceded a panic attack.

The wave of heat throughout her body. The dizziness. 

The tingling in her extremities. 

The feeling of disconnect from reality.

"Breathe," she told herself, imagining Mjoll next to her, doing the exercises with her.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, and she was fortunately early enough to not let it develop into a hyperventilation crisis.

She rode for hours towards Heljarchen hall, what she liked to call her "main house". She was cold and tired, but she refused to stop before she arrived.

She eventually arrived in the middle of the night (or very early morning). All she could hear as she got in were the peaceful snoring sounds of everyone sleeping, her daughters in the room next to the dining hall, and Gregor and Oriella in the beds upstairs. She took off her armor as quietly as she could, then crawled into bed. She focused on her breathing, again, visualizing her lungs inflating with air as she inhaled, then deflating as she exhaled. She could not start replaying the scene in her head, she was not ready to think about it yet. “Tomorrow,” she kept telling herself, “I’ll deal with this tomorrow”. Alas, when she finally did find sleep, her dreams were not free from the abandoned shack and the Dark Brotherhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never liked Astrid but Elianne hates her even more than I do lmao
> 
> Chapter title inspired by https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPSenKymLwk  
> This song has such chaotic, violent energy, which represents this chapter perfectly. The aggressive and gory lyrics at the beginning represent Elianne's feeling about Astrid in that moment, how much she wants to hurt her, and it also applies to when she decides to kill the khajiit.  
> The later parts of the songs represent Elianne's angst and depression, how she feels like killing takes so much out of her and is almost killing her too.


	4. In the Dark

“Mama, you’re home!”

Elianne opened her eyes and saw Lucia sitting on the floor, next to the bed.

"Hi, darling," she said to the girl as she felt her eyes closing back again. "Is it still early?"

"Yes, only Gregor is up. We're going to the market, in Whiterun. He says I'm going to help him cook a vegetable soup for lunch!"

"That's great. Wake me up when it'll be ready, will you? Mama still needs to sleep for a while."

"Of course! but you will have to tell me all about your latest trip. See you later, Mama!"

Elianne woke up several hours later, the rumbling of pots and pan from the kitchen yanking her mind away from sleep. She remained in bed, lying awake for a couple minutes. It seemed like some rest had helped her clearing things up in her head. She did not want anything to do with the Dark Brotherhood. From what she understood, they were a bunch of assassins… A profession Elianne had a lot of difficulty understanding. Some of their victims would obviously have to be people who deserved death, like rapists, bandits who killed strangers on sight or anyone of that sort. However, there would also inevitably be victims who did not deserve to die. Some victims who just upset the wrong people, on the wrong day. Some victims of sadists with too much money, but not enough common sense. Elianne could not imagine herself killing someone like that, for no reason worthwhile. The fact that some people could do it with gold as their only motivation was a mystery to her. She liked gold; It was what allowed her to have healthy, happy and safe children, a comfortable place to live and some good quality equipment. Yes, gold was awesome, there was no denying it, but there were limits as to what she was willing to do to obtain it. 

That being said, she knew exactly what she was going to do next; She was going to travel to this Sanctuary, to the Dark Brotherhood. She was going to accept their offer. Then, when all doubts about her had dissipated, she would make her move. 

She was going to destroy them from the inside.

She got dressed and went to the dining room with the others to eat Lucia and Gregor's soup. She told everyone the tale of how her and Mjoll solved a murder in Windhelm, and smiled at the look of wonder in her daughters' eyes as she spoke. She also told them the news concerning Mjoll. The girls were ecstatic, Lucia already talking about what she planned on wearing for the wedding, and Sofie wondering if she was going to use white or grey yarn for the blanket she wanted to knit for the baby.

She waited at the end of the meal to ask the question she had rehearsed a thousand times in her mind already.

"I was wondering," she started, avoiding eye contact, "have you guys ever heard of the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Of course," Gregor answered, "I don't think I know of anyone who doesn't know about those crazy assholes."

"Language, Gregor!" Oriella shouted, hitting his arm with the back of her hand. "Why dear, you don't know who they are? Really?

Elianne shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.

"Well, the adults at the orphanage where I grew up referred to them as more of a legend, a story to get us to behave when we were children. I didn't know they were real…"

The whole table looked at her, eyes wide.

"By Mara, Mama, you really aren't lying when you say you don't know much about the real world, yet!" Lucia exclaimed.

Elianne had always liked how her younger daughter had absolutely no filter, whatsoever. The fact that she was only six years old did not help, but even then, it was pretty flagrant. The little girl had a personality so intensely opposed to Elianne’s, so energetic, cheerful and impulsive as opposed to the Breton who was much calmer, soft and heedful.

“Lucia!” Sofie said harshly, yet not too loudly, “you can’t just say that to people! That’s rude!”

Elianne could not help but to chuckle. She found it adorable how much of a little “mother” Sofie was like with Lucia. She was 11 years old, and her personality a lot more similar to Elianne’s, although she was way more self-assured and mature than Elianne would have ever dreamed to be at her age.

“It’s fine, Sofie,” the Breton woman replied, “your sister isn’t wrong.”

“But why are you asking us this, Mama?” the girl replied, “Is one of their members after you?”

“No, no!” Elianne lied. “No, not at all. It's just that I heard rumors in Windhelm about a little boy being the one responsible for a Black Sacrament who led to a woman’s death. His name was Aventus Aretino. Do you know him, Sofie?”

The little girl gasped.

“Yes, I do know him!” she answered. “He was my friend before you adopted me. I can’t imagine what has led him to contact the Brotherhood…”

“Well, his mother died and he was sent to Honourhall Orphanage, in Riften. He and the other orphans were mistreated by the lady in charge there, Grelod, so he escaped and, apparently, performed the Sacrament to have her killed. But that’s only a rumor…”

“That’s horrible,” Sofie said, “I didn’t know his mother had died since the last time I saw him… And for him to perform a Black Sacrament… If that part is true, the woman must really have been terrible with him… It was not like him to wish death upon other people.”

“Death of a loved one can change us, you know.”

“Yes, I know…”

The atmosphere around the table had turned rather dark and depressing.

“Now, who wants dessert?” Lucia asked loudly, probably trying to distract everyone from such gloomy subjects. “We have pudding!”

After a good portion of desert and a little family dish-washing session, Elianne locked herself up in the library tower with some parchment paper and some ink, in order to write to Mjoll. The girls were outside with Gregor, enjoying the sunny afternoon to practice their dagger wielding techniques.

Elianne had absolutely hated having to lie to her daughters about such an important thing, but she did not know what else to do. They were not ready to hear the truth. Or maybe they were, but Elianne certainly was not. She did not want to deal with their questions, with their fears, their protests, their opinions. That would be for another day.

She did not hold back anything in her letter to Mjoll, though. She described Grelod’s murder, the “We know” letter, the Brotherhood’s leader trapping her in that filthy abandoned shack, the khajit she murdered, the invitation to be a member of the Brotherhood… and her plan to accept and destroy them once she would have earned their trust. A crazy, probably very stupid idea, but what she wanted to do nonetheless: Her mind was set on that.

She was terrified of what Mjoll would think of her after having read that letter, but she knew that if there was someone she could confess in, it was her. This woman had been nothing but lovely to her since the day they met, she had been with her for most of her adventures, saving her ass from death more than once (and it was mutual). She was the one holding Elianne’s cold hand while her consciousness was asphyxiating in Apocrypha, she was the one who went through Labyrinthian with her and patiently waited for her to return when she traveled to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin. More than that, she was the one who sat next to her, whispering “It’s okay” when the panic attacks happened, the one who held her in her arms when she sobbed like a baby, the one who did not mind postponing their adventures at the last minute because Elianne’s anxiety was creeping up again. Most importantly, she was the one keeping her grounded into reality when Elianne woke up from nightmares, not fully convinced her mind was back into the real world, and not just being tricked by Hermeus Mora.

Keeping anything from Mjoll, as morally ambiguous as said thing would be, simply did not feel right.

She spent the rest of the day at the alchemy table, trying to use up the few remaining ingredients she had before they became rotten. She told everyone she was heading to Falkreath the next morning, to explore Halldir's Cairn and retrieve a Drum for a Bard in Solitude, what she intended to do before everything took this nightmarish turn. She was actually going to find that damned Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. 

She hopped on Nin early the next morning and headed straight to her destination, not even stopping to eat, but rather doing so on her horse’s back. She finally arrived at night; The Sanctuary was easy to find if you followed the lady’s instructions well. 

As she approached the stone door, a loud voice suddenly asked:

“What is the music of life?”

Elianne jumped. The voice was loud, raspy, and seemed to come from the door itself.

“Silence, my brother,” she answered, as the lady had told her in the shack.

“Welcome home”.

The door opened slowly, revealing a little corridor with stony walls, and two flags on the sides with the same black hand that had appeared on the letter she had received a couple days earlier. She walked forward, and the corridor opened up into a bigger room, where a woman was standing, her back across the wall.

A very familiar woman.

“Ah, at last!” she said, “I hope you find the place all right.

“So what happens now?” Elianne said, eager.

“Well, what happens now is you start your new life in the Dark Brotherhood. You’re part of the family, after all.”

Elianne shuddered at the word “family”. She already had a family, a weird one, but a family nonetheless. She did not want a new one. Alas, she was going to have to pretend she was one of them, if she wanted her plan to succeed.

“This, as you can see, is our Sanctuary,” the woman continued. “You won’t find a safer place in all of Skyrim. So, get comfortable.

“I am honoured to be a part of your family,” Elianne lied, forcing a slight smile.

"Our Family, my dearest. Our Family. Together, united as one, the Dark Brotherhood can accomplish anything. But you must be anxious to get to work. I'm arranging a job, but need a bit more time. For now, go see Nazir. He's got several smaller contracts."

She held herself from rolling her eyes.

“Where do the contracts come from?” she asked, wanting to make sure her conjectures were right.

“They used to come from the Night Mother. Potential clients would perform the Black Sacrament, and she would hear their prayers. The Night Mother would communicate this to the Listener, who would then dispatch a Speaker to arrange the contract with the client. But that was a long time ago. There hasn't been a Listener in years, not since Cyrodiil was overrun in the war with the Thalmor. But people don't know that. So they still perform the ritual... and we eventually hear about it. When someone wants us, we find out."

Her hypothesis was right, then. The Black Sacrament was what lured the Brotherhood.

“Who is the Night Mother?” she asked again, not sure she had heard of this part yet. 

“The Unholy Matron, the Shrouded Lady, the Mistress of the Void. She goes by many names. Ages past, Sithis gave a woman five children. She killed them to win his favor, thus becoming the Night Mother. If you believe that sort of thing. Today, she's... well, she's a skeleton. An ancient corpse. But, more importantly, a corpse that's being brought to this Sanctuary by her Keeper."

“She’s being brought here?"

“Yes. A few months ago I received word from the Night Mother's Keeper that he had arrived in Skyrim from Cyrodiil. The Night Mother's crypt, in Bravil, was destroyed. A result of the chaos caused by the war with the Thalmor. That forced a relocation. I don't know where the Keeper has been these past few months, but I recently received another letter. He's bringing the Night Mother here. Soon."

Sithis… Elianne knew she had heard this name before. Or read it, to be exact. She knew it was a sort of deity, a "pseudo soul" birthed from Padomay, the chaotic cosmic force of the begining of time. She did not know much more than that fact, though, nor of the Night Mother.

She was starting to understand the Brotherhood a bit more. It seemed to be more of a religious kind of organization. Well, used to be, if she was to believe the woman. By the way she talked about it, she did not seem to be a strong believer. Elianne felt even more disgust towards the woman: Appropriating a religious cult for yourself to fit your sadistic desires, and completely disregarding the deity which created it and all its surrounding traditions and symbols? This just seemed incredibly disrespectful and selfish. 

“Before I go and meet the other members, can you tell me your name?” Elianne asked the woman.

“Astrid’s the name. No need to tell me yours. We’ve figured it out for ourselves a long time ago. Now go. Be sure and introduce yourself to your new Family members. They're all very eager to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooon.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSwvOH_YZPg  
> The meaning is more in the title. Elianne feels "in the dark". She feels lonely when Mjoll isn't around, even though she is surrounded by so many people.


	5. Life to Lifeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5th chapter is here! Took me a while to write this one, there's so many travelling happening (and I despise having to write transition scenes like that). So, sorry if it's a bit heavier to read, I am doing my best lmao 
> 
> Also, feedback on my writing would be greatly appreciated. English is my second language, french is my mother tongue. I'm almost perfectly bilingual by now, but my writing can still be a bit awkward at times. I read a lot more french litterature than english litterature in the past, and same goes for writing since most of my education was in french (except for 2 years in an english college), so that may be why. Anyway, long story short, don't be shy to correct my mistakes or give me advice or suggestions, etc! I'm all ears! :)
> 
> "*" means "see end notes".

Elianne walked to the big open room, behind Astrid. It was huge, but the stone walls and the darkness made it look smaller than it really was. The few lights emanating from the fire pits here and there gave a pretty comfy ambiance, though, that and the little waterfall in the back, spilling out in a tiny pond. Next to it was a curved wall, one Elianne immediately recognized to be a “shout wall”, as she liked to call it, a wall with dragon shouts inscripted on it. On the other side of the waterfall stood a forge, as well as some equipment to work on armor and weapons. The whole place was quite lovely, actually, but Elianne was still not completely fooled by its charm: it was still the headquarters of a group of assassins. 

“Ha ha ha ha!” an Argonian shouted in the back of the room, “Again! Again! Do the part where he tried to buy you some candy.” 

Elianne remained in her spot, hidden from view, observing the little group of people interacting with each other.

“Okay, okay,” answered a brown-haired little girl, who did not look much older than Sofie. What was a child doing here?

“Wait,” she continued,“Here we go. « Oh, you are such a pretty little girl, »” she said, imitating an old man’s voice, “« Would the sweetie like a sweetie? Oh yes, how about some chocolate? » Oh yes, please, kind sir. My mama and papa left me all alone, and I’m so very hungry. I know a shortcut to the candy shop. Through this alley. « Oh yeah, very good. Very good. My, it is dark down here. Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth… your teeth! No! Aggghh! »”

The whole room started laughing, and Elianne gasped silently, realizing what the little girl meant by “her teeth”. She was a vampire. Even from her spot, she could see her eyes glow a reddish colour.

“Oh, Babette, but you are so wicked,” a soft, silky voice answered. It seemed to be coming from whom Elianne presumed to be a Dark Elf, judging from her skin tone.

“What about you Festus?” a Redgard man asked, looking towards a much older man. “How did that last contract turn out?” 

“Oh, yes, please, old man,” a tall white-haired man interrupted, his voice low and almost guttural. “Regale us with your tales of wizardry…” 

“Ah, the young and stupid,” the old man replied. “Always mocking the experienced and brilliant. My contract went very well, I’ll have you know. Tried a new spell. Little something I’ve been working on in my spare time. Came this close to turning that priest inside out. Damned messy.” 

“And what of your latest, Arnbjorn?” the Dark Elf asked the white-haired man. “Something about a Khajiit? Merchant was it?

“Oh, a big doggy chasing a little kitty!” the little girl -Babette, it seemed- said before chuckling. “How adorable!”

The entire room laughed with her, but the “doggy” in question did not.

“I am not adorable,” he replied, “it was not funny, and he wasn’t a merchant. He was a Khajiit monk, a master of the Whispering Fang style. But now he’s dead… and I have a new loincloth.” 

As he said that, everyone slowly started to go their separate ways in the Sanctuary. This is where Elianne decided to step in.

"So you're the newest member of our dwindling, dysfunctional little Family,” the Redgard told her, before she even had time to greet them. “I've heard quite a bit about you. I’m Nazir."

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, still internally reminding herself to act nice with them. If she was to earn their trust, it would not be by being rude to them.

“Save the niceties for now. I have no intention of getting invested in someone who may be dead tomorrow. If you’re still breathing in a few weeks, I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends.”

Of course. Another man doubting her abilities. The usual.

“Astrid said you’d have some work for me,” she said, trying hard not to sigh and roll her eyes.

“Did she, now? Well, as it turns out, there are a few lingering contracts we haven't had the chance to complete just yet. And more, dribbling in from time to time. I'll assign them to you as they become available. To be completed at your leisure."

“Sounds simple enough.” 

"It is. These aren't particularly glamorous assassinations, I'll be honest. Don't pay much, either. But they'll keep you busy. Just do them as you're able. There's no real time limit - the targets aren't going anywhere. You can turn each one in as it's completed, or wait and turn in the whole group when all the targets have been eliminated. Whichever works for you."

Elianne truly, genuinely hoped the contracts would be of real, obvious malevolent people. People she would not feel bad about killing.

“I'm ready for the first set of contracts.” 

"Well then, let's get started. I've got three available right now. Your targets are the beggar Narfi, an ex-miller named Ennodius Papius, and Beitild, a mine boss. When you've completed all those, we'll see if I might have some more. Now, Enodius... He lives just outside Anga's Mill, in the woods. He was once a miller. Now Papius is just a paranoid recluse who thinks someone is out to get him. And he's right. As for Narfi, he's a hapless beggar living in some ruins just outside the village of Ivarstead. Easy even for you. And finally, Beitild. She separated from her husband several months ago. Now the two run competing mining operations. Beitild's angry and desperate. A Fighter. That’s all I have for now. Happy hunting.”

Nazir handed her a parchment sheet with all the details concerning the victims on it. She already knew about Narfi. A poor fool, a mad man, yet not a dangerous one at all. She remembered doing a task for him, which consisted of almost drowning herself in the river to catch a necklace stuck to his sister’s old rotting body, sunken at the bottom. Fun times. She had already considered ending his life, not because she was mad at him, but because she pitied the poor man and his miserable existence, and she thought it would probably be best for him, at this point. At least, one contract she knew she could do, without too much guilt. As for Ennodius, she had no idea who he was. She would have to see when she meets him. The Beitild contract was different, though; She knew the woman personally. You know her without a doubt if you’ve ever been to Dawnstar. The woman is basically famous there for being a complete bitch. Elianne had interacted with her a couple times, all very unpleasant moments, from what she remembered. The woman was not likable, but that did not strike as a good enough reason for Elianne to kill her. Alas, if she wanted to gain the guild’s trust… sacrifices had to be made.

Elianne spent the rest of the evening exploring the Sanctuary and meeting the other members. She very much enjoyed Veezara, the Argonian. He had been extremely sweet and welcoming with her, already giving her advice about her contracts and giving her a complete tour of the Sanctuary. Elianne almost felt guilty for thinking so low of them before she got in; even if they were assassins, they were still living, sentient creatures, just like herself. The lizard, from what she understood about his story, has been trained to kill at a very young age. If he knows of nothing else, it would be totally normal and logical that he turned to an assassins organization.  
She also liked Gabriella, the Dark Elf. She reminded Elianne of an old lady she used to love, back in her days at the orphanage. The only difference being one of them was a cold-blooded murderer.  
The Breton woman did not have much sympathy for the other members. Babette was interesting and talented in alchemy, but Elianne was still too creeped out by her to really enjoy her presence. Festus and Arnbjorn both talked to her as if she was a horse dung on two legs. It annoyed her greatly, but it was nothing she was not used to; It seemed like it was the norm, in Skyrim, to be as unfriendly as possible to every stranger around you. Nazir was okay, she thought. Very handsome. But treating her like an inexperienced child, like most people. Big turn off. As for Astrid, her opinion on her had not changed in the slightest. She was simply not able to like her. 

Before getting into her new bed -with zero privacy, may it be known- Elianne took out her map and tried to plan her next trip logistically. She would go to Ivarstead first, and do the Narfi contract. This one was going to be easy. Then, she would travel up north to Anga’s mill and see what could be done about Ennodius Papius. Finally, she would go to Dawnstar and meet with Beitild. She didn’t know what she was going to do yet, but she told herself she would figure it out on her way there.

She left in the early afternoon the next day, hoping to arrive there at night time. She decided to wear the official black and red armor that was offered to her when she arrived the day before. She made sure everyone saw her with it before she left because she was not going to wear it much longer than that. She was not ready to associate herself publicly with the Brotherhood yet. Probably never, if she was being honest.  
She changed to her good old set of stalhrim armor before arriving at Ivarstead. To erase any suspicion, she did not even pass through the village, but rather sneaked her way around in the mountains so she could arrive directly behind the ruins Narfi called his house. After making sure he was deeply asleep, she pierced the man’s chest with her sword and pushed her hand on his mouth so that no sound could escape. When he finally stopped writhing, she planted the man’s iron dagger in the wound she had made with her sword, hoping whoever would find him would think it was a suicide. Before leaving, she stroked the man’s hair and prayed for Mara to watch over him in the afterworld. He was a good man: just not fit for this realm of reality anymore.

Elianne then headed to Anga’s mill, for her second contract. She stopped at a Giant’s camp midway, decimating the beast without mercy (and without Mjoll’s help, which made her incredibly proud when she realized it). She used the camp for herself, giving herself some strength back with food and rest. She reached the mill in the evening, and, she would swear her life on it, a dragon popped up in the sky precisely when she finally saw Enodius Papius, who was busy trying to cook parts of a mudcrab*. Elianne did not even get the time to tell him to watch out, the man was already in flames, burning up on the spot, like a human torch. The absurdity of the situation seemed to have made Elianne’s brain fuzzy, and she got severely burned two times on her left arm before she was able to use her shout correctly and appease the dragon to send him away- Ever since Alduin, she had been absolutely unable to kill any dragon. The feeling of absorbing their souls, the sight of their flesh disappearing, only their skeleton remaining... It triggered too many bad memories for her to deal with.  
She cleaned her wound as best she could with the little material she had, and then hopped back on Nin. She stopped at Nightgate inn for the night, where she took a long, cold bath to soothe her burns. When she bandaged herself up and headed to her bed, her mind got fixated on Mjoll. It had been around three days since Elianne had left for the Sanctuary and gave her letter to the courier. It should have arrived at its destination by now, she thought. She started to feel her chest tightening and her muscles clenching, making her breathing more laboured. She felt anxious, knowing Mjoll was probably aware of Elianne’s plan at the moment. She curled up in a ball inside the covers, asking herself if she had made the right decision by telling her. Although it did not matter anymore: what is done is done. 

She hopped back on Nin the next morning and headed to Dawnstar for the last of her three contracts. She really hoped another surprise dragon attack would do the job for her like last time, but she knew she could not push her luck too far. She could still barely believe it happened. Did a fellow dovah hear the laments of her soul and decided to come help her? Probably not, if she was being honest, but she liked to think of dragons as more than just evil creatures ready to just annihilate every human in sight.  
The sun was setting when she finally arrived at the pale city. She stopped at The Mortar and Pestle first, and was happy to see Frida again. She told her she was stopping in Dawnstar to ask the Jarl permission to extend the piece of land she bought to build a training field for the girls. A complete lie, but one that Frida believed, which led her to ask Elianne about her daughters and Mjoll, who was not there. The two women thus talked for a while, updating each other on what had been going on in their lives since the last time they had seen each other (sadness and panic attacks were mostly what had happened, to tell the truth). The elderly woman then offered Elianne to use the alchemy table and stock up on various potions: she had a bunch of poisons and random ingredients she was going to throw away otherwise. Elianne was delighted by the lady’s generosity, and spent the next two hours mixing away her worries. She was happy to be spending time with Frida and to brew some potions, but mostly, she was happy to procrastinate her contract. She really, really, really did not want to do it.  
Elianne left when Frida closed her shop, and headed to Windpeak Inn. She was surprised to see Beitild there, drinking her bottle of mead alone at the table. That is when an idea suddenly struck her. The poisons she had made earlier with Frida... maybe they could be useful.  
She went to the counter to pay for a room and hid in there for a moment. She rummaged through the little bottles in her potion purse and finally found what she was looking for: the special deadly poison with a delayed effect. She never reached for it during battles or sneak attacks since the wanted outcome in those circumstances is always a quick, efficient death.  
She still did not want to do it. Her opinion on the woman had not changed in the past hours: she still thought of her as an insufferable witch -and she still thought she did not deserve to die because of that. However, she realized as she slipped the poison in her pocket, the woman was destined to die anyway; If not by her, then by another member of the Brotherhood. At least, Elianne knew she could make her death painless.  
She was able to pour the poison in the woman’s drink quickly, while everyone was looking away. 

She went to sleep soon after and left as early in the morning as she could: the sun had not even fully rose yet, and she was already on Nin’s back galloping away from the consequences of her actions.  
Elianne decided to stop at Heljarchen hall first, since she was passing through anyway. Seeing her daughters, even for just an hour, had helped to appease the ache she felt in her heart after the monstrosities she had committed. As for the burns on her arm, they seemed to do the exact opposite, as they were aching at least two times more than in the previous day. She thus took advantage of this little stop at home to re-organize her potion purse and to find one she could use for the pain. She eventually find one that made the burning more bearable, but it was still much of an inconvenience.  
She told her family she had to go back to another cave, to complete a quest for another Bard at the college; She would have to find a flute this time. They wished her good luck, and the Breton woman hopped back on her mare, heading back to the Sanctuary. She was disappointed not to have had an answer from Mjoll, but she also knew it was still early, and that couriers are not always the fastest.  
The horse ride felt long and agonizing. Elianne kept thinking of her contract victims. She was still not fully convinced she had made the right choice. Maybe this whole plan of destroying the Brotherhood was a bad idea, after all. She did not fully realize, when she acted it out in her head, that contracts would be given to her so early. She did not think about the fact that she would have to kill like them if she wanted them to think she was like them. Was it actually worth it? Was it okay to kill a few innocents if it meant destroying the big beast in the end? She was not too sure what to think anymore.  
All those thoughts soon triggered Elianne’s usual symptoms of anxiety. Those familiar, so well-known sensations that seemed to have made a home out of her body and mind even though they had never been welcomed in, unwanted squatters. “Let them stay,” Elianne thought to herself as she embraced the pain, “I deserve them, this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: This actually happened when I played the game lmaooo, I thought it was too funny not to include it in the written story.
> 
> There you go, my dudes.  
> Guess who's gonna be in the next chapter... Hint: It starts with "C" and ends with "icero". ;)
> 
> Chapter title inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hvZt93Vcqw  
> This song represents Elianne's contracts, how it feels when she kills for it, how crazy it is that someone can be so alive in a moment and completely lifeless in the other. "I will learn from this pain" represents Elianne trying to justify it, trying to find something positive in all this mess.


	6. Psychotic Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, finally! I'm sorry It's been so long for me to post. I haven't been really inspired lately, I am stressed out about the pandemic and there's tension at work because of that and ajksnfjnrjng.  
> But here it is anyway! I hope you enjoy.

Elianne had just entered the Sanctuary, her breathing still laboured from her panic attack, but slowly coming back to normal. She was exhausted, though. Anxiety symptoms have that very fun tendency to drain you out of all your energy without further notice.

She went down the little set of stairs and then stopped, hiding herself from view, when she heard a loud, high-pitched voice:

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?"

Right, the Night Mother! The "sacred" corpse. She had forgotten about this. Astrid said someone would bring her here, soon. The Keeper, she had said. Whatever that meant. She assumed the voice came from him.

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets punished," she heard Arnbjorn say.

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog," Festus answered. "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

Cicero? She had heard that name before… but where?

"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are," the stranger answered. Sure to earn our Lady's favor."

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero," Astrid intervened. "And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... husband?"

Arnbjorn answered with a grunt.

"Oh, yes yes yes!" Cicero exclaimed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss."

Elianne decided to enter the room at this moment. A huge wooden box stood in the middle of the place, probably twice as tall as her. In front of the box was… a jester?  
Elianne furrowed her brows, confused, as she approached the man, everyone around him slowly going their separate ways.

"Wait, oh wait!" The Keeper said as he turned around, pointing his finger at her. "I know you! Yes, yes, from the road! Cicero never forgets a face."

All of a sudden, it hit her.

"Of course!" She said. "You're the man we saw on the road, a couple of weeks ago, with the wagon! Transporting your mother... "

She remembered, now, where she had heard this voice and this name, Cicero. Mjoll and Elianne had seen him on the road, not long ago, in front of Loreius' farm. The poor man was in hysterics, desperately trying to fix his broken wagon wheel, to transport his "mother". Not the kind of mother she had imagined, back then. They felt sorry for him, so Elianne had gone and talked to Loreius to convince him to help the fool, while Mjoll had stayed with him to give him some food and water. The man was so happy when Elianne came back and told him Loreius would help him, he started dancing around and praising them with thank yous, while the two women tried hard to conceal their laughs. He even gave them some gold, a very decent amount, as a reward, which they initially refused, but he insisted. 

"Okay, don't laugh," she had said to Mjoll after the man was finally out of sight, "but I think the poor psycho looked pretty cute."

Mjoll had done exactly what Elianne told her not to. She bursted out laughing, so hard she almost fell off her horse. Elianne was laughing too, both at herself and at her companion who had to stop her horse completely to not fall over.

"I know, right?" The lioness answered between two snorts, "If we gave him a bath and some proper clothes, first. We may just have found your man!"

"Oh, yes. The prettiest fool of the whole asylum!"

"Stop, i'm going to soil my armor!"

Elianne shook her head slightly, pushing the memory away. Gods, she missed Mjoll so much.

"I am! I am!" The jester answered. "But not just my mother. Our mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, and got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget."

Elianne offered him a small, yet still genuine smile. Although a bit intense, the fool was funny, she had to give him that. A little ray of sunshine in this dark, murder-smelling place. Although, if he was here, it would mean he was an assassin too, like all of them. And to think she took him for a simple psycho who was lucky enough to escape getting locked up… She shivered, thinking back at how her and Mjoll made fun of him so freely behind his back. If he had heard them… She did not even want to think about it.  
There was something very sinister about a murderer dressed up as a jester: the dark, grim aura of the killer seemed so incompatible with the bright, joyful vibe usually associated with jesters, and yet, they both co-existed within the same man's body. The contrast was too strong, too powerful to be unnoticed, creating a weird energy around him, something disturbing, uncomfortable.  
Elianne had so many questions for him, so many thoughts bubbling inside her head. She did not know where to start. Who in Oblivion was this man?

"What a fun coincidence our paths crossed again," Elianne added, looking the man up and down, incapable of keeping her eyes elsewhere.

He was a rather small man for an Imperial, but still taller than her, although Elianne was easy to beat in terms of size. What stood out the most in his face were his red eyebrows that drew two sharp lines on top of his dark brown, almost black eyes. His nose and jaw also seemed to have been drawn with the same harsh, sharp lines, as opposed to his round, full cheeks. His lips, quite plump, protruded slightly, as though they were stuck in a perpetual kiss when at rest. Each one of his features seemed to be a statement, which made his face a "love it or hate it" kind of deal. As Elianne had pointed out to Mjoll the first time they saw him, she quite liked the man's face. There was a special, weird kind of beauty hidden throughout the strangeness of his facial traits, and Elianne could not avoid noticing it.

"Oh, you call it a coincidence?" the man answered. "I would rather call it… Destiny."

Even in the way he talked, in his gesticulations, Cicero seemed to embody a typical jester persona. 

"I'm new, here, by the way," Elianne said to him, "I just came back from my first set of contracts. I can show you around, if you want."

She was not there when Cicero arrived at the Sanctuary officially, but even then, she could not help but to notice how differently they reacted to the Imperial's arrival compared to hers. Arnbjorn was being a prick, but that just seemed to be the usual. Festus was surprisingly welcoming, and Astrid was respectful, but all the others seemed very distant. Veezara, Gabriella and Babette were almost fighting for which one was going to show Elianne around first, when she arrived, they were all around her asking her questions and sharing advice.  
This time, however, they were nowhere to be found.

"Oh, that would be so lovely of you!" the jester answered. "But Cicero must tend to Mother, first, get her settled and everything. Would you like to help me take her to her spot? 

"Sure, but I doubt we'll be able to lift her up with just the two of us."

With some -very forced- help from Nazir and Arnbjorn, they were all finally able to lift the box upstairs and bring her into the little room with stone benches, the room that looked like a tiny temple. Elianne was impressed to see the big, rounded steel coffin that contained the corpse. Mostly, she was impressed that it did not reek of decay, but rather smelled good, a scent similar to nightshade flowers.

"For a corpse, she smells pretty fresh," Elianne said to the Imperial when they were both alone again.

"Cicero takes that as a compliment, for I am the one responsible for her preservation. It is my duty as a Keeper to keep Mother clean, protected and… happy."

It was odd, the way he talked about the dead body as if she was his real biological mother. Elianne was not one to heavily worship any deities. She appreciated Mara and the values she seemed to represent, but a small, quiet prayer here and there was all she really did in terms of worship. She did not have anything against people who worshipped their deities heavily or not at all: she couldn't care less about other people’s beliefs, as long as they were not hurting anyone in the process. She was, however, simply not used to being around such extreme worshippers. She tried to keep an open mind, but it was creeping her out a bit.

"Oh, so that's what a Keeper is…" she added.

"Well, yes. You didn't know?"

"I don't know much about anything regarding the Dark Brotherhood, to be frank. I've only been here for a couple of days."

"Oh! Right. It will be Cicero's utmost pleasure to teach you all about it! But I must do my Keeper duties, now. I would prefer to be alone with the Night Mother, if you don't mind… Don't worry, it's nothing personal, just old habits. Besides, it’s getting late. We will have plenty of time to talk tomorrow, i’m sure!"

Elianne politely agreed and left.  
There were so many bizarre, intriguing things about Cicero, it almost made her mad. She was so used to quickly reading and then mentally categorize the people she met; The nice ones, the dangerous ones, the scum-of-Nirn ones, the adorable ones, and so on. With Cicero, it felt impossible: It seemed he could fit into every category, yet also into none of them at the same time. It was unsettling. 

Elianne went to the dining hall to receive her payment from Nazir for her three latest contracts. She was surprised he paid her for Ennodius Papius, considering the fact that she did not kill him herself. His reasoning was that she would have done it herself anyway, in other circumstances. She was not so sure about that… but Nazir did not need to know.  
She looked at all that money she just made, and felt her stomach revolting. It felt ridiculous to be rewarded for something she was so ashamed of, something she found so wrong. Would it be worth it in the end?

Astrid entered the room after Elianne was done with Nazir. 

"Ah, there you are. Congratulations on your first minor contracts. Did you meet our new muttering fool, yet?"

"Cicero?"

"Yes, Cicero. Who else?"

"I did, but we didn't talk much, since he had to perform his duties with the Night Mother."

Astrid rolled her eyes.

"He annoys me already," she said, shaking her head.

Elianne nodded, agreeing to avoid confrontation. She seemed harsh on the man. Elianne had quietly laughed at him and his funny persona too when she first met him, but Astrid seemed to be mean to him for the sheer fun of it.

"What's going to change now that the Night Mother is here?"

"Very little. You have my word on that. The Night Mother represents a chapter in the Dark Brotherhood's history that has long since been closed. Today we live by our own rules. We're the last Sanctuary in all of Tamriel, and only by forgoing the old ways have we survived for so long."

Elianne was skeptical. Wouldn't it be the opposite? Maybe the reason why they were the only Sanctuary left in Tamriel was precisely because they abandoned their traditions. How can people take them seriously when they get their contracts out of rumors?  
Elianne did not understand Astrid’s logic. The Nord lady did seem to relish in the attention and praise she was getting for being the leader of the Sanctuary, though. 

“My only worry,” Astrid continued, “is our little « Keeper ». I'm not sure what Cicero expects to gain by bringing the Night Mother here, but he'll soon learn this is my Sanctuary."

tHiS iS mY sAnCtUaRy. Gods, Elianne hated her so much. “We get it, blondie,” she thought, “ you’ve got a superiority complex. Want me to call you mistress and kiss your feet, while we’re at it?”  
The way Astrid just completely overlooked Sithis and the Night Mother, speaking as if she was above them, completely disregarding the traditions… Elianne could not believe the disrespect, the audacity of this woman. Who did she think she was?

“Yes, of course,” the Breton answered, trying not to grimace. 

“Enough of this foolery, now. We've got some business to discuss."

"Do you have another contract for me already?"

“I do indeed. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in The Hag's Cure, when the shop is open. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."

“Understood. I will be on my way to Markarth tomorrow.”

“Yes. Have a bath and a good night’s sleep. I want you to be ready. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are."

Elianne took a long, well-deserved bath before collapsing into her bed. She was tired, yet sleep did not seem to come for she was too excited: she was looking forward to going to Markarth the next day, actually. She had not explored that part of Skyrim yet, and it seemed wonderful to look at, from what everyone told her. Hopefully, Muiri would give her a good reason to eliminate her target. Elianne did not think she had it in her to kill innocents again. She was also looking forward to speaking with Cicero again. She thought about him and his love for the Night Mother and realized that such devotion for the Brotherhood, although a bit unsettling, was bound to lead him to dislike Astrid. Or doubt her, at least.  
Elianne smiled to herself, realizing she might just have found the perfect ally in this Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMdJmr-nEEY  
> The meaning is more in the title than anything else, really. Elianne suspects Cicero is psychotic and doesn't know what to make of this. It seems to be Astrid's opinion too, but she seems to be a lot more harsh about it.


	7. Clash With Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter is a bit longer than the other ones, I'm sorry (or not, if you're enjoying it lmao).  
> I hope you enjoy. xoxo

Elianne leaned her hands on the wooden table in front of her, and locked eyes with Astrid.

“So,” the Breton said, “what do you say?”

Astrid pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest.

“Hmm…” she pondered. “This is not a bad idea, actually. I usually prefer to send my associates alone during their contracts, as a way of proving their worth in a very… direct way. However, since you did so well on your latest contracts, I am not worried you will carry out this one just as beautifully. And having the fool away from the Sanctuary for a couple days… Well, I certainly would not mind it.”

“So, it’s a yes?”

“Aye. Go ask him. And don’t forget to take note of every suspicious behaviour you notice.”

Elianne smirked. Her plan was working, so far. She had asked Astrid if she could bring Cicero with her to meet Muiri and receive the contract. She pretended to share the woman’s opinion on the jester, and told her she found his behaviour suspicious, and would like to keep a close eye on him. Astrid had also, coincidentally, noticed strange behaviour from the man, such as “muttering to himself” or “speaking to the corpse as if he was conspiring with her”, to quote her words.  
Obviously, Elianne did not care one bit about Cicero’s behaviour. She wanted to keep him close for the complete opposite reason: to make him her ally, instead of Astrid’s. 

She headed towards the man’s chambers. Instead of sleeping in the dormitory with the rest of the guild’s members, they decided to give him his own room, at the other end of the Sanctuary. It was very humid and cold -probably due to the gaping hole on top of the stone wall next to the bed. The man was sitting at the table in the center of the room, writing in what seemed to be a journal.

“Good morning,” she said as she knocked on the wall behind him due to the absence of a door. Cicero turned around.

“Oh, hello, hello!” he answered as he got up and walked towards her. “So very good to see you again. Elianne, is that right?”

“Yes. I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Would you like to come with me to Markarth to meet my client for my first big contract? Since you’re the Keeper, I would assume you have some experience with these kinds of things. It would make me more confident and more comfortable to be with someone else. I asked Astrid, and she said yes.”

Make him feel important. Flatter his ego. This should work.

“Oh, well, since our lovely… mistress has agreed, then yes. Cicero would be honoured! When are we going? And where?”

She did not fail to notice the change of tone when he said the word “mistress”. This was a good sign.

“We meet the girl in Markarth. We’re leaving now.”

Elianne hopped on her horse’s back when they were both outside the Sanctuary.

“There’s enough space on her back for the two of us,” she said as she looked down at Cicero. “We can travel like this to Falkreath, and then get a carriage there to go to Markarth.”  
Cicero agreed and hooked his foot on the stirrup. Elianne reached out her hand so he could grip it and lift himself up on the horse’s back. She was surprised at how strong his grip was, almost making her lose her balance when he jumped.

“Hold tight,” she told him as she asked Nin to go forward. Elianne felt a slight shiver in her tummy when she felt the man put his arms around her waist, securing himself in place. Let’s just say it had been a while since she had been touched by someone other than Mjoll or the girls -or a freshly killed body. They rode in silence, but very fast, and they arrived at their destination only a couple minutes later. They quickly found a carriage rider who was willing to take them to Markarth, paid him, and then sat in the back of the ride. The weather was rather warm, and not too windy: perfect for riding. Nin was following slowly behind them, stopping here and there to munch on some flowers, then trotting to catch them back up. The usual when Elianne used carriages.

“Now,” Cicero said once they were settled, “where were we last night before you left?”

“I was telling you about the fact that I’m all new to the Brotherhood, and I know nothing.”

“Oh, right! Cicero remembers, now. I was telling you about my duties as Keeper. So, tell me, now. What can Cicero teach you about our precious little family?”

“Well, first of all, I have to admit I’m not too sure about the origins of it all. I was raised being told of the Dark Brotherhood as nothing but a legend to get naughty children to behave. I didn't even know it was a real thing until they contacted me…”

Cicero had his mouth open, and was staring at Elianne.

“Ha! Surely you're pulling Cicero's leg!” the man exclaimed before laughing.

“I swear it on my life. I was raised in an orphanage with very little access to the outside world… the real world. Most things in life, I learn them as I go and explore.”

“Fascinating,” the man said in awe. “You must at least know of Sithis, then?

“Barely. I know about the tale of the beginning of creation, I know Sithis is a kind of soul birthed out of Padomay… but that’s about all I can tell you.”

“Well, there is that, at least. Sithis is...A bit like the cold of space, or terror of midnight. Sithis is all those things. He is... the Void."

“What do you mean by the Void?”

“Well, the Void is… Nothing. Simple, utter nothingness. The Void is a space that always existed, before the creation of Mundus. Filled with everything, but nothing at the same time.”

“I see. And what of the Night Mother? Astrid said she birthed the children of Sithis and killed them to earn his favour… something like that. Tell me about it.”

“Astrid was right about this part, at least. Indeed, the Night Mother is our Unholy Matron. The undying spirit of a great woman who birthed the children of Sithis. And killed them. In his honor."

“And her corpse has been preserved for all this time?”

“Yes! Thanks to the Keepers who have taken care of her, for years and years, without fail. Right now, Cicero is Mother’s Keeper, like I told you yesterday. Oh, Cicero takes care of our Lady's body. Oils it, preserves it, keeps it safe. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin. But I am not the Listener. Oh no. There is no Listener. Not yet! But some day, some day, some day I pray, that one will come to hear her say... The words."

“Wait, a Listener? What’s that?”

“Oh, I see Astrid did not tell you about this part… Not surprising... Well, the Listener is the only person the Night Mother speaks to. It is the highest honor attainable by a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Of course our Lady is dead, so she doesn't talk with words, since her lips are... rotten. But inside the Listener's head. I hear it's... intimate. Ah, but there has not been a Listener in years. Our Lady has not chosen Cicero, and certainly not Astrid. Or... anyone. But some day..."

Whomp, there it was. That little bitterness when mentioning Astrid.

“Does that mean the Listener was traditionally... the leader of the Brotherhood?”

“Cicero isn’t sure « leader » is the most appropriate word to describe the Listener’s role within the Brotherhood... But, yes, in a certain way.”

Elianne smiled. She was getting there. Slowly but surely.

“Is this why I can usually detect a slight... dislike for Astrid whenever you talk about her?” Elianne tried to keep her tone light, amused even, to make sure she had Cicero’s trust.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Is it that obvious?” he said before chuckling. “Cicero simply... doesn’t understand. Rejecting the old ways, all the traditions as if they were nothing... Unacceptable! Shameful! The Brotherhood would have never existed without them. She calls the Brotherhood her family, but completely fails to recognize its origins, what kept it alive in the first place... She would be nothing without it. Nothing but a common bandit, roaming the lands like a bunch of feral skeevers hungry for blood...” 

The Imperial was now on the edge of his seat, and his cheeks were starting to flush, revealing how passionate he was about his words.

There we go. It’s out. He said it. Elianne pushed her lips together, trying to keep her smile from widening too much.

“Funny you should say that,” she started, “because this is also the first thing that came to my mind when I was first introduced to the Brotherhood. See, I’m not one to worship anything or anyone heavily, but I still have a basic sense of respect for the divines. And it seems to me as though the Dark Brotherhood’s creation in itself was of divine nature, with the Night Mother and Sithis… It just seems absurd to me that she would reject the importance of these deities. That’s just... disrespectful.”

“I could not agree more!” The man spoke in an excited, jubilant voice. “By Sithis, I knew I wasn’t crazy…”

Ha! Well, that remained to be seen. 

“But tell me now,” he continued, “how did you end up a member of the Brotherhood? Cicero wants to know!”

With a wide smile, he leaned forward slightly and tapped his hands on his knees, eager to hear her tale.

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.” 

He was staring at her, still smiling from ear to ear. Elianne glared back. She noticed his hair slightly lifting up and flowing with the wind, behind his ear. She never noticed he even had hair before. She seemed to only see his hat whenever she looked at his head. But he did own some: some very bright red, almost crimson shoulder-length hair, straight as a needle. He was keeping it tucked behind his ears, which could explain why Elianne had never really seen it before. The very low light of the Sanctuary probably did not help either. However, outside, in the sunlight, it was very visible and, dare she say, quite beautiful to look at.

She forced herself to focus back on the question, and looked down at her feet instead, not wanting to creep out her potential ally with her staring.

She told him the whole story: from her visit at the Aretino residence, to the “We know” letter, to the abandoned shack. She omitted telling him about her whole idea of destroying the Brotherhood from the inside, of course. They were not exactly there yet in their relationship.  
Cicero proved himself to be a very good and active listener, smiling and nodding at her, asking her clarifications and giving bright reactions to the actions she described. It made the conversation pleasant, and the flow more natural, as if she was talking to a friend. Elianne was not that easily fooled, however: she knew the man was an assassin behind his sweet, clownish attire, which to her would mean an inherent lack of empathy, a lack of feelings for others. Of course, these kind of empathy-less people tend to fake their emotions around others to gain their trust, and to be perceived as relatively normal people. They are not fools either. Nevertheless, Cicero’s emotions seemed truly genuine. It could have meant two things: either he was a pro manipulator, or a bad assassin. However, to have been chosen as Keeper, he could not have been that bad. Hmm… This man was a mystery on two legs, no less. A walking, headache-inducing cognitive dissonance. 

“I’ve only been given three little contracts, yet,” the woman continued. “The first one was rather easy, since I was already planning on killing the poor man anyway. He was a beggar gone mad, and it was just unsafe for him to remain in this world.”

“A good soul for Sithis! The Dread Father would be proud. And what of the others?”

“The third one was challenging…”

She interrupted herself. Maybe right now was too soon to confess how unfit she felt as an assassin. The man could very well take her morals and emotions as weaknesses. She had to change her route:

“... because she was never alone. I ended up choosing to slip a delayed-effect poison in her drink. This one has next to no taste, which is perfect for this kind of kill.”

“Oh! Poisons are fun! What effect did it have? Choking? Burning? How I would have loved to see her face as she realized what happened!”

He giggled. 

Awesome, Elianne thought, a sadist. Another fun little assassin quirk she could not relate with. She enjoyed a bit of suffering if she felt as though the person deserved it, but never more than a couple seconds, a minute at most. More than that and it’s just second-hand pain.

“It’s a painless poison,” she answered. “I assume it killed her peacefully during her sleep, later that night. I was not there to watch.”

“How unfortunate! This is the best part of the job!”  
“I personally prefer the whole planning that precedes the act.”

Because all the other parts are terrible.

“I see,” Cicero replied. “Elianne likes playing detective! Using her wits and canniness! Cicero has a lot of respect for your type of assassin, oh yes! Sure to please our Mother too.”

She forced a smile. If that was how he saw it, she was fine with it.

“Your turn, now,” she demanded. “Tell me how you got in.”

The man grabbed his chin and knitted his brows, his eyes to the side. After a pensive sigh, he finally answered:

“Cicero doesn’t have many memories of the times before the…” He interrupted himself. “The times of my debut in the Brotherhood.” He looked back at her and smiled. Not one of those wide, creepy smiles she saw from him before, but a small, almost shy smile. His hands seemed agitated. “I was still a child. Not even eighteen yet. Cicero had always been drawn to these sorts of things, it was quite a logical sequence of events, really. Feels like I’ve been there all my life.”

His tone seemed to have lost its usual enthusiasm, and instead gave place to a softer, more melancholic one.  
She realized she just hit a sensitive spot, without intending to. She took note. It needed not to be forgotten for future reference.

“How old are you now?” she asked him, suddenly realizing she never really thought about it before.

“32,” he answered quickly, avoiding her gaze. 

His answer made sense. Honestly, she did not know what she expected. The man could have been 16 or 70, she would not have been surprised. 

“And how old is Elianne?” he enquired, looking back at her.

“24.”

“Ah, the young days. Do use them well.”

They spent the rest of the ride snacking on some of their provisions, and gossiping about the other members. Small-talking. The Imperial just seemed happy to have changed the subject, as he had regained his jester-esque passion. He was still pleasant to talk to, but a bit too talkative for Elianne’s taste: if he was not speaking, he was singing, or whistling. It would probably drive her insane on the long-term, but it was fine for now.

Some additional passengers entered the carriage once they were a bit more than halfway there, which caused Cicero to move next to Elianne on the bench, leaving the one he was using for the young Nord couple.

Soon after that, Elianne started noticing Cicero’s eyes getting smaller, his lids closing on their own, and him jolting awake each time, fighting to stay awake.

“Take a nap,” she said to him. She could not help but to smile at how familiar this sentence sounded: carriage rides used to have that same soporific effect on Mjoll.

The man rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“I think I will have no choice but to do it,” he answered while he turned his back towards Elianne’s side and brought his legs up on the bench. “May I use Elianne’s lap to rest my head?”

“Sure.”

Oh, such a familiar feeling, once again. Instead this time was an oddly caped red head which rested on her thighs, as opposed to the usual chestnut curls of the lioness. She looked down at him and was surprised to see how peaceful he looked, his hand resting on his chest, slowly lifting up and down to the rhythm of his breathing. Elianne wished she could be as calm, but her heart told another story. She kept thinking of the client they were supposed to meet. “Please”, she prayed internally, “may she give me a worthy murder.” 

The sun was almost fully gone when they arrived at the Markarth stables, but they were still early enough for the shops to be opened still. She woke Cicero up with a jerk of her leg. They thanked the carriage rider and headed to the large doors of the old city of stone. Although she had visited numerous Dwemer ruins in the past, she was always amazed at the Deep elves’ architecture. To think all these tall, imposing structures with such small intricate details were nothing but stone before… it was still blowing her mind, after all this time. In the entrance of the city was a modest marketplace with an entrance to the inn to the left, a general store to the right and two stalls in the middle of the stone floor. Behind -and on top of- the market area seemed to be an infinite maze: stairs, stairs, so many stony stairs, bridges, and inclines! They asked a woman at a jewelry stall for some direction to The Hag’s cure, which she happily gave. After following the path next to the river and going up a couple stairs, they finally found the shop. 

"No, no, girl,” they heard a gravelly voice say as they entered. “It's the picked spider tongue and then the decayed taproot. Do it the other way, and your cure turns into a poison."

"There's just so much to memorize,” a soft, sweet-sounding voice answered. How am I supposed to remember what goes where for every single herb?"

"You will. Until then, you'll taste every potion you make before you sell it."

A quite old white-haired woman turned around and faced them. Her face was darkened by heavy black makeup. She lit up when she noticed Cicero and Elianne at the door.

“Customers!” she said as she approached them. “Welcome to The Hag’s Cure. A little bit of old Reach magic can cure whatever ills you…”

“Oh, we don’t doubt it!” Cicero answered, theatrical as usual. “We are not here for a cure, however, but rather for… someone.”

“Muiri.” Elianne added, “We’re looking for Muiri.”

“Oh. Yes. The girl is in the back, at the alchemy table.”

They headed towards her and waited, both not knowing who should talk first. They were far enough from the older woman to talk without being heard by her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she said as she looked up from what she was working on. She was a small, thin woman with short brown hair, and piercing grey eyes. A pretty little thing.

Elianne looked at Cicero, like a child looking at her mother to let her know they want her to talk in their place.

“The Dark Brotherhood has come, Muiri,” the Imperial said with a softer, lower voice.

“"The Dark Brotherh... Oh. Oh! I... my goodness, you're really here! The Black Sacrament. It actually worked?"

“Obviously,” Elianne answered with a sarcasm only herself understood. “Now tell us what you need.”

"What I need? What I need is for Alain Dufont to die! I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is!"

Cicero jumped up and down and clapped his hands -as silently as can be done. Elianne felt her heart increasing in speed. A dog. That was a good start.

“I love this job, I love it!” he replied cheerfully. “Do tell us more, dear.”

“I didn't know it when we were... with each other... but Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old dwarven ruin - Raldbthar. It's near Windhelm. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids. I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and kill him. I don't care about his friends. Do whatever you want with them. But Alain has to die!"

Elianne silently sighed in relief. A stupid bandit. Most of these assholes are hostile at the sight anyway. This was so much better than what she expected. This kill was going to be fun. She answered Muiri, trying not to sound too excited:

“Why exactly do you want him dead?”

“Well… I went to Windhelm to see the Shatter-Shields. They were old and dear friends, and... in mourning. Friga was killed recently. Murdered... I met Alain in the tavern while I was... drinking my sadness away. He was handsome, and charming. He said I was the "beautiful lily" of his dreams. Alain made all the pain just... go away. But it was all lies! Alain used me. He ruined my name, destroyed my friendship with the Shatter-Shields... Do you know why Alain was in Windhelm? He heard about Friga's murder. He wanted to befriend the family, in their grief... and rob them blind. Alain used me to get close to my friends. And now they all think I'm some kind of... monster. Alain Dufont took my life. And now I'm taking his."

Elianne nodded, satisfied. 

“It will be done.” 

"Excellent. Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you. In gold. I've saved up a bit. I hope that'll do. But, well... There is one more thing. If you're interested?"

Oh, gods. What now?

"If you can... I want you to kill someone else, as well. You don't have to - not as part of our deal. But if you do... I'll pay you even more. It's Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If Nilsine dies, too... I'll make it worth your while."

By Mara. She had to ruin it. Elianne knew of Nilsine. The poor girl just lost her sister Friga to the butcher… Isn’t the death of one daughter enough for the parents? 

“Why?” she simply asked.

"Don't you see? I was like a daughter to Tova. A sister to Nilsine and Friga. But the family refuses to believe my innocence. No matter what I say. Couldn't they understand that I was used? That I was grieving for Friga, too? No... they treated me like garbage, threw me away. With Nilsine dead, maybe then Tova will realize what she's lost, hmm? Maybe then she'll see that I was just as much a daughter as the others. And if not, may she drown in her own tears."

Cicero was chuckling, his mouth wide with a deep smile. Elianne stood there in shock, trying hard to not let her mouth drop to the ground. This was the worst, pettiest, most bullshit-filled reason to kill she had ever heard.  
Do people in Skyrim not have any concept of death? Of how absolutely irreversible it is? Of how painful it is for the loved ones? Elianne was the one with more than a thousand deaths in her record, and yet she seemed to be the only one shocked at this situation. What is wrong with people?

“Is there anything else, dear?” Cicero asked.

"I planned to kill Alain myself, you know. Nilsine, too. But lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Maybe you could use it? Just coat your weapon with it. Then... you get the idea."

She handed them a small brown bottle which Elianne took and put in her potion satchel.

"Make them all pay for what they've done to me..."

After some polite goodbyes, they headed towards the exit. Once outside, Elianne looked up to the sky, letting the wind and the cold night air hit her face. She sighed. She wanted to shout, not even a dragon shout, but just a pure, raw scream. A very human one. The plan was so perfect… Why did she have to add Nilsine to the equation? Why did this poor girl need to die?  
Elianne looked down at her hands: they were shaking. She slowly directed them towards her pockets. They were wet, she could feel them gliding across the stalhrim surface. She lifted her head up and felt the world spinning for a moment.

No. Oh, no. No. Not now. Not now. Not now. Not. Now. Please. 

“Elianne?” she heard Cicero say. “Are you alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not be afraid to comment and let me know your thoughts. Constructive criticism is very much welcomed: I really want to get better!
> 
> Chapter title inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iD0kELk5AVQ  
> I chose this song to represent Elianne's kind of "wake-up call" when Muiri asks to kill Nilsine. It's like reality hits her, that people really are assholes, really want each other to die for no reason. It's the realization that being an assassin is a tough job, and she's starting to have doubts about her plan.


	8. Shaped by Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 8 (after one month, ur allowed to hate me lmao)
> 
> Just wanted to let you guys know, i'm having my long awaited jaw surgery next tuesday (in 3 days aaaaahhhh) and i'm so terrified I want to shit my pants 24/7, but the point is i'm probably not going to be super motivated to write next week because i'm gonna be Destroyed™, but after that I have more than a month of recovery at home, so I'll have plenty of time!!  
> Wish me luck!

Elianne looked around her frantically, trying to find an exit, an escape, somewhere to hide, but she could not find anything. She settled for the stony stairs in front of the shop; She sat down on them and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Elianne thanked Mara there wasn't anyone in the area to witness her being so vulnerable, but there was still Cicero. She felt his presence next to her, sitting down too. She was trying to visualize her respiratory system to regain her breath, but he was distracting her. She could feel her face getting hotter by the second, and some beads of sweat rolling down her neck. She wanted to cry.

"Elianne is hyperventilating" Cicero said in a surprisingly calm and soothing voice. His pitch was lower than usual.

"Yes," she managed to say between two harsh breaths, "I… I need… focus."

"Breathe with me," he said, still looking very relaxed. 

Elianne opened her eyes and looked at him. Maybe that would help. It always worked with Mjoll.

"One," he said as he inhaled slowly, "and two." He exhaled.

Elianne tried to follow his pace. She felt her heart beating like she had just ran a whole mile, and her limbs trembling, but she tried to focus her attention on Cicero's lips counting to the rhythm of his breathing.

One, and two. One, and two. One, and two. 

She focused on the task, and started feeling her heartbeat slowing down, eventually. It was still fast, way too fast, but better.

"You've got it," the man said, "keep going."

And she did. When the world stopped feeling as though it was spinning around her from the lack of oxygen, she spoke:

"I think I'm good."

Elianne was surprised by how not-awkward the situation had been. Whenever she panicked in front of someone other than Mjoll, everyone seemed to just do  _ everything _ they should not be doing: touching her, telling her to "calm down", or starting to panic themselves, as if one was not enough already. Cicero did none of that. If there was one person she would have expected to react wrong, it would have been him, since he was always so theatrical and exuberant. But no, he remained calm the whole time and even offered to help.  _ Useful _ help. (No, Lydia, tapping on my back like I'm a 3000-pound baby trying to burp after a milk is, in fact, NOT helpful). 

"Is there anything else Cicero can do to help?"

"A hug", she wanted to say but retained herself. It was usually part of the routine with Mjoll: when she finally felt in control again after an attack, she liked to receive affection. It was a way of grounding herself, being able to feel something she knew was real, being able to feel familiar textures, smell familiar scents. However, Cicero was not exactly what she'd call familiar. Not yet, at least. It would have probably just startled her up all over again.

"No, but thank you," she simply said instead. She looked down. "I feel a bit embarrassed."

"Oh, please don't!" Cicero answered, waving his hand away. "Those things were a daily occurrence for me, not that long ago. Cicero knows how it feels."

There he was again, showing some kind of empathy. Weren't assassins not supposed to feel that? Or, then again, maybe he was just very talented at faking it. Elianne wanted to know more.

"You know how it feels?" she asked, to confirm her doubts.

"Well, spending several years alone in a Sanctuary with the Night Mother's corpse… It does...  _ things _ to a brain. A lot of things." 

"Wait...Several  _ years _ ?"

"Yes, well, Cicero was alone with Mother for a long time…"

"But, why?"

"It's… complicated. The war with the Thalmor spoiled a lot of things for everyone, I guess… But the Dark Brotherhood took a pretty big blow, in Bravil. One day, years later, Mother's crypt was simply… desecrated. The whole Province was, and still is, ravaged by strife. Nowhere there is safe, at present. So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here, in Skyrim! This is the only Sanctuary left, you see. Such was my... honor. As Keeper."

Elianne furrowed her brows and pursed her lips, confused. She knew the Thalmor war was the reason behind this sudden corpse relocation. She was not aware, however, that the fool waited years, waited until it was almost too late to move. Why? Why did he spend so much time hiding alone with the Night Mother if he could have moved sooner? What was the point?

"But why did you have to wait until the crypt was destroyed? Why didn't you move in the Falkreath Sanctuary sooner?"

The man was looking down, and his mouth twitched. He waited a moment before responding:

"It's… As Cicero said before, it's complicated. I do not wish to speak about this, if you don't mind."

Elianne smiled internally.  _ That _ was the sensitive spot she hit briefly, earlier. Spending years in isolation with a long dead woman as only company… Just the thought of it made her shudder in fear. Not having anyone to hold on to, not having anyone to speak to, no one to distract you from your thoughts… No wonder he was mad.

"All that to say," he continued, "that I recognize what you just went through, a couple minutes ago."

"Oh, right. Yes, I imagine it does…  _ things... _ to your brain.

Battling a legendary dragon in Sovngarde and reading Black Books did their fair share of "things" also. 

"Some experiences leave scars on the skin," Cicero said as he pointed his finger on the marks Elianne had on her left lower jaw. This one was made by a draugr. Or was it a skeleton? She could not remember, since she had so many of them. It's one of those things you just stop counting when they occur too often.

She looked down at Cicero's finger on her skin. "But most of the scars are invisible," he continued. "Because they're inside of here." He removed his finger from Elianne's skin and pointed at his head.

"Exactly," she answered enthusiastically. "The scars heal but they don't fade away. Just like when the smith makes a sword: the harsh heat of the fire shapes the iron into something completely different. It’s still iron, but it’s in another form now. It is reborn through the fire. Just like us humans are, in a way, reborn from the pain."

"Yes, that's a good analogy! Some experiences just leave you…"

He paused, searching for the right word. Elianne chimed in to complete his sentence, but Cicero found what he was looking for at the same moment, making them say it in unison:

"Changed."

Elianne smiled at their synced response.

"Changed, yes," the man replied, smiling back.

Well, at least now she knew they both had something in common. Both of their minds were broken. Broken and clumsily stitched back up, just enough to be somewhat functional.

Cicero started to appear somewhat less crazy, in Elianne's mind. He was still a complete freak, but at least now there seemed to be reasons behind it. 

"If I may ask," Cicero said, "what was it that triggered Elianne so badly? Did the woman say something she shouldn't have?"

Just the fact that she asked to kill Nilsine Shatter-Shield too.

"No," Elianne lied."It's…"

She bit the insides of her cheeks, focusing hard to find something, anything that could have made a good excuse. There was no way she would let Cicero witness her having emotions towards a person. Not even just a person, but a potential  _ victim _ . 

She remembered what Astrid had told her in the abandoned shack: “You understand that the only thing that matters is you following my orders. To kill.”

She could not allow them to see she was hesitating to kill a person. The Dark Brotherhood members killed when ordered to, no questions asked. Like dwarven spheres: they did not care who you were, or what you did. They see you, they kill you. Simple as that.

Maybe Cicero could understand. Maybe the man respected Elianne's honour code when it came to killing.But maybe not. And in this case, she did not want to risk it.

"Yes?" Cicero asked as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for Elianne to answer.

Quick, quick, quick, Elianne, think! She looked down, then noticed her potion satchel at her waist.

"The lotus extract," she finally said. “It reminded me of… something. I would rather not talk about it.”

She had no idea if it was credible, but it was the best lie she could manage on the spot.

“No, of course not,” Cicero answered, “but Cicero wanted to know what triggered it, so we can try to avoid it in the future.”

Elianne thought it was probably just to avoid any  _ inconvenience _ in the future, but she liked to pretend it was because he cared. 

“So, what now?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Well, Elianne will go carry out her contract and Cicero will go back home. I might as well buy new oils for Mother since I’m out.”

“Wait, you aren’t coming with me to Raldbthar for the contract?”

“Oh, I don’t think it would be appropriate. The Keeper is not supposed to take contracts. It is part of the rules. A small sacrifice to make to be honoured as the Keeper.”

"But this is MY contract," she protested, "not yours. If you just come along with me, you're not carrying it out for me. So it doesn't count. Right?"

"Hmm… No, I suppose not. Yes, Cicero can accompany Elianne for her contract! I can just sit back and watch while you kill. Oh, yes!" He stood up. "That will be fun!"

Yeah. Nothing like watching your associate commit a good murder. That's what fun was all about.

"Where do we start?" Cicero asked energetically.

Elianne took out her map.

"She said it was near Windhelm."

She finally found it on the map and pointed at it with her finger. It was not circled, which means she had not visited it yet. She always circled the areas she visited on her map, simply to keep track of where she had been, and to not waste time exploring the same areas more than once.

"It's quite far away," the man said.

"Yes. More than a day of travel."

She could stop midway at Heljarchen hall for the night, and see her girls. Also, hopefully, ask if a letter from Mjoll had arrived while she was gone. However, she did not feel comfortable bringing Cicero home with her. Everyone would question where in Oblivion did he come from, and why he is dressed as a jester. More importantly, why she was hanging out with him in the first place. She found it odd to introduce him to them as the guy she was trying to befriend to have an ally to help her destroy the Dark Brotherhood from the inside. Speaking of which, she was starting to doubt her plan even more. Yes, Cicero shared her dislike for Astrid, but not for the Brotherhood in itself. It was the opposite, actually: poor fella was quite the fanatic, and it was probably his only home. She definitely had to rethink her plan.

"We should stop for the night when we're about halfway there," Cicero said. He pointed to the middle of the map. "Maybe around here?"

"In Whiterun," Elianne said as she studied the area where his finger laid. "Yes, good idea."

Heljarchen hall was not too far from Whiterun. Two hours at most, probably less if Nin was fast. She could ask Cicero if he was fine with splitting ways for the night when they would get there.

"Should we stay here for the night and get moving tomorrow morning?" The man asked.

Elianne looked up at the sky. It was getting dark out, and she was starting to feel tired anyway. "That sounds good," she replied. "I will go get us rooms at the inn. It shouldn't be that far away from where we entered the city. You can go get Mother's oils now, before the shops close."

"Brilliant! Cicero will go, right now! I will meet you back at the inn."

After getting lost and losing track of direction more times than she would have liked to admit, Elianne finally found her way back to the tiny marketplace in front of the city gates. She easily found the Silver-Blood inn. She went in and paid for two single rooms. Then, she decided to order some ale and sip it gently in the big leather chair, next to the fire. Cicero walked in a couple minutes later with a bag full of oils and ointments she had never seen before. She gave him the key to his room so he could go put down his bags, and then come back to the hearth with her. He ordered some mead and then sat in the chair next to her.

"Oof," Cicero sighed, "what a day!"

Elianne almost laughed. No bandits, no wild beasts, only one little panic attack that had been quickly tamed… that was quite a relaxing day for her, compared to the usual.

"Not the worst," she simply answered. "Tomorrow might be more eventful. If we travel by ourselves, we have a much higher risk of meeting hostile bandits, or wild wolves, maybe even giants. So, probably a lot more killing."

"Oh! Yes, yes, yes! Cicero will finally kill again! It's been so long…"

"That long? I thought you would be allowed to kill by being Keeper, just not for contracts."

"Oh, but I am! I am allowed! Last time Cicero killed was on his way to the Falkreath Sanctuary… Ha! Those mudcrabs didn't stand a chance!"

"So… yesterday?"

"Yes, sister."

"And you think it's been so long?

"Well..." he giggled. "Yes. According to Cicero's preference, at least."

"Wow."

"Oh, but creatures aren't as fun as men and mer. You can't talk to them, can't savour all the little… emotions."

This was precisely why Elianne preferred killing beasts over people, but to each their own, she thought. 

"Well, if we run into a group of hostile people, they're all yours, dear Cicero."

"Oh, you are too kind, Elianne!"

This was not exactly the kind of situation in which she was used to being called "kind", but she took the compliment nonetheless.

"Cicero should probably sharpen his blade, though…"

The man gripped his dagger and was about to unsheath it, when Elianne reached for his arm to stop him.

"Not here, Jester. This is an inn. People might want to kick us out if we just randomly whip out our blades."

The man laughed.

"Silly Cicero!" he said as he shook his head and clicked his tongue against his palate, "I got too excited!"

Elianne pulled back her arm towards her and winced in pain, the sharp movement having made her dragon fire burn rub against the inside of her armor. She had almost forgotten about it, but the sting was a very clear reminder, now.

Cicero raised an eyebrow and looked at Elianne's arm.

"Are you hurt, dear sister?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a bad burn that takes a lot of time to heal. The way I moved my arm just made it scratch against my clothes, I guess."

Cicero quickly got up and grabbed Elianne's hand (the one from the non-injured arm) in his, yanking her up from the chair.

"Come with me so I can have a look at it," he said as he walked towards his rented room, dragging Elianne behind him.

She followed, a bit confused, but too lazy to resist.

When they arrived in his room, he closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Come," he said, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

Elianne did what he told her. She started detangling the cords that kept the top of her armor in place. She quickly got frustrated, as she always did when she was taking off her armor.

"Help me out, would you?" she asked Cicero, pointing with her head to the mess of knots and strings on her elbow.

With unsure hands, Cicero managed to untangle the knots of the first elbow. Elianne turned her upper body towards him, giving him better access to the knot on her other side. She was surprised to see Cicero's face up this close, not having realized earlier that the position they were in forced them to be very close to each other in order for the man to work the strings on her shoulder. She took advantage of his gaze being fixed on the knot to subtly stare at him at the same time. Gods, was this bastard gorgeous! Elianne had noticed the man's beauty already a long time ago, but it was even more flagrant with his face so close to hers like that. She finally was able to point out what she had always found weird about his face: his laugh lines. They were so deep, so defined, a feature she usually disliked, but it just suited him so well, for some reason. They drew attention to his lips, which were so pink and pouty. It reminded her a bit of a duck's beak. Again, not something she usually liked on people, but Cicero just seemed to pull the look off so well, so effortlessly. She couldn't help but to wonder what it would feel like to kiss lips like that, how it would feel on hers which were so small and thin…

"Done!" Cicero exclaimed as he let go of the strings on Elianne's armor.

That phrase seemed to have brought her back to reality. Was she just daydreaming about kissing Cicero? She almost wanted to slap herself. Really? Her mind went there? The poor fool was dressed -and acted- as a jester. A fucking  _ clown _ . Why was she even thinking of him in this way?

“Thanks,” she said as she took off the top piece of her stalhrim armor, trying very hard to repress the thought she just had. It hurt her burn badly, but she embraced the pain, as if it was her punishment. Her upper body was now only covered with her tight tank top, the one she used to push down and bind everything under there -necessary when running around in an armor, slashing your sword at enemies. She unwrapped the bandage she had put on it this morning while biting her tongue, forcing herself not to whimper from the pain as the fabric was ripping bits of skin away. The injury was now fully exposed, blisters and all.

“By Sithis, Elianne!” Cicero said, gawking at the burn. “How did you do that?”

She shrugged. “Dragon.”

He looked up at her. “P-pardon me?”

“I know, I wasn’t careful enough. I should’ve tried-”

“Elianne battled a dragon?” he asked, cutting her off. “And survived?”

She closed her eyes and tried to visualize a positive image. Heljarchen hall. Nightshades. Bubble baths. Sweet rolls. Mjoll’s hair. Lucia’s stupid pet rabbit. 

She did NOT want to think about Alduin. Not today. She had already managed to stop a panic attack from blooming earlier, and she was not ready to do it all over again.

“Several, actually,” she replied to Cicero. “But it’s not… It’s not that impressive for me. I mean, it’s easier for me because I have a special kind of… affinity with them.”

“An affinity with dragons?” Cicero asked, his eyebrows furrowed. “Did Elianne raise them or something?” He laughed at his own joke.

Elianne chuckled a bit too. She tried to imagine what a dragon farm would look like, but she was not able to picture it. It would probably need to be the size of Skyrim in its entirety. 

“No, I did not raise dragons. That would be pretty inappropriate since they’re my kin, in a way. We share the same kind of blood, and the same kind of soul.”

“Oh!” Cicero exclaimed as he clapped his hands. “I have heard of your kind! When I read about Skyrim, and the Nords’ history, they mentioned someone like that that they idolized, who they strived to be. A mortal who shares the blood and soul of dragons, sent on Nirn by the divines, with a blessing of Akatosh. What were they called already? Cicero cannot remember the name…”

She smiled slightly, surprised but relieved the Imperial knew about it, even if just a tiny bit. “It’s called Dragonborn. Or Dovahkiin, in the dragon tongue.”

“That’s it! Dragonborn. Dragonborn! Elianne is a Dragonborn! How wonderful! How absolutely incredible!” He was standing up, now, almost jumping in place. “Does it mean you can shout? Oh, please, show me! Show Cicero how you do it!”

“Calm down there, Keeper boy. I’m not a circus freak. And i’m not going to shout inside an inn. Or inside any building, for that matter. It’s too powerful.”

“Right, of course. Cicero is sorry, dear sister. Did not want to offend you. Poor Cicero just got very excited. Dragons are quite… fascinating. Beautiful in their own horrific way.”

She nodded, pleasantly surprised by his description. She has always had that opinion, deep down, but always kept it secret. She was so used to people calling dragons “horrible” or “a curse”. She did not disagree, but she always saw something more in them. Her dragon blood might have been the reason. Anyhow, she was glad someone else finally saw something positive in those beasts.

“Now, let us take a closer look at this burn, shall we?” Cicero said, approaching her. He grabbed her arm very gently, the cold feeling of his leather gloves against Elianne’s skin almost making her shiver. He rotated the arm towards his face, very slowly, to get a better look at it.

“Looks like a bad, bad second degree burn,” he declared after a moment. “You’re lucky Cicero just went out for some oils and ointments! I might have just what you need…” He went to his bag of supplies and took out a little pot. “This salve will do the trick.” 

He opened the pot to reveal a brown-ish, sort of caramel coloured cream. It smelled strong, but it was not an aggressive odour: it was herbal, maybe even a bit flowery. Cicero took off a glove and used his now naked fingers to dip in the salve. Elianne pushed her arm forward, signifying to him she was ready. The Imperial grabbed it with his gloved hand, and slowly, so very slowly, spread the salve onto the burn with his fingers. She flinched at the touch, this spot of skin being still so sensitive. It did not hurt as bad as she thought it would. Cicero was so gentle, she could barely feel any pressure. She looked at him as he slowly massaged the area. His mouth was half-open, his eyes fixated on his work. A few seconds later, he looked up to meet her gaze, and Elianne immediately looked away, feeling shy all of a sudden. She had no idea why. Her burn, however, was already starting to feel better. It felt cold on her skin, which was soothing.

“There you go,” Cicero said as he fumbled in his things again. He finally took some bandages out. “This salve works wonders on damaged skin. Cicero uses it on Mother sometimes, when some spots get too bad.”

Elianne felt weird knowing she was using the same skin care product as a corpse, but it worked well, at least.

Cicero got near her again, slowly wrapping the bandage against the burn. He wrapped it gently, but still tight enough for it to stay still. She honestly could not have done it better. 

“Done!” he said as he finished tying off the ends. He walked back to his bags to put the salve away and wipe his hand with a rag before putting his glove back on. “It should help with the healing process, and reduce the pain.”

“Thank you, Cicero” she said as she admired her new bandage, sincerely grateful for the jester’s help.

He waved his hand away. “Of course! It’s just normal for Cicero to help his fellow Brotherhood members.”

The Breton smiled. She felt like yawning, fatigue starting to get to her. She knew it was time to leave for her room and say good night, but she did not feel like quitting Cicero. Again, she was not too sure why. It was true she was not a fan of solitude, but why she wanted to be around Cicero in particular, she had no idea. She took a deep breath and forced herself to do what was wiser.

“I’m going to sleep now,” she said as she picked up her armor from the ground.

“Yes, yes, good night, dear Elianne! We shall speak again tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe I can shout for you tomorrow, on the road. If it’s necessary. Maybe.”

The imperial smiled so widely, Elianne thought his lips were going to rip apart.

“Cicero cannot wait, then!”

He winked, and her heart skipped a beat. 

  
After wishing him good night, she left the room and silently scolded herself. She was starting to realize that she appreciated Cicero’s company. She had to be careful. Yes, she wanted him as an ally, but she had to be ready for anything: A betrayal, a revelation, a sudden out-of-nowhere urge to kill (you never know with assassins…). Investing too much emotions would make things harder. Make her weaker. She could not. She would not allow it. Well, she would  _ try _ , at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please please please give me feedback (even if it's harsh, I really want to get better), and feel free to comment anything, it always fills my heart with excitement whenever I receive a comment! <3 <3
> 
> Title chapter inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao_6nghkFcU&ab_channel=AsILayDying-Topic  
> This song sums up Elianne's thoughts when she talks to Cicero about being changed from trauma. Like iron shaped by fire.


	9. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya girl is back! I had my jaw surgery last month and everything went super duper well! I'm so happy!  
> I had a lot of time to write during my recovery time, but I didn't do much, I was honestly just too focused on making diy christmas gifts for my loved ones lmao, which is why it took me so long to post this chapter.
> 
> By the way, I just want to let you all know that, even if it takes time in between chapters, I am not planning on abandoning this story at all, don't worry! I already have a bunch of chapters and scenes from much later on in the DB questline that are already written. It's just covering the spaces in between that takes me more time. :)

“Oh!” Cicero exclaimed before laughing like a maniac. “That was fantastic! Absolutely incredible! Oh, please, Elianne, do it again, do it again!”

The Breton was staring at the wolf she had just froze in place with her thu’um. She had heard Cicero, but she remained focused on the beast, knowing the frost would not last forever, and she would have to finish the job with her sword.

“Wait,” she told him. She kept staring at the wolf, Cicero joining in on the task. A couple seconds later, she saw the animal starting to move again, signifying the effect of the shout was over. She leapt forward immediately, slashing her sword at the wolf’s neck, killing it instantly. “There we go.” 

“Good kill,” Cicero said as he watched her use the beast’s fur to remove the blood off her blade. “Can you shout in other ways? Oh, Cicero wants to see!”

“Wait a bit. Shouting requires energy. Kind of like magicka, but... just for shouts. I need to wait a bit before shouting again. And yes, I can do a whole bunch of stuff, other than freezing things.

“Like what? Can you slash their throat from a distance? Or make their brain explode?”

The man was giggling, getting excited. Elianne wondered if she would ever get used to the man finding joy in such gory, violent murder themes. Maybe one day, but not today.

“... Not exactly,” she replied. “I can weaken enemies, disarm them, burn them with my breath, make them flee, things like that. But there is usually no blood involved. I can also run real fast. Oh! And here’s my favourite thing. Watch.”

She backed down, placing herself a bit further behind the animal’s corpse. She closed her eyes and waited for her shouting energy to recharge.

“What now?” Cicero asked, behind her.

“Hold on,” she answered, still focused. “The energy’s almost all back, now. Be patient.”

“Alright, alright! Cicero will wait right there! You shout when you are ready!”

There, she could feel it coming back to her. She opened her eyes, made sure her gaze was fixed on the wolf once again, then started to shout.

“Fus...Roh-Dah!”

The corpse was projected several feet into the sky, flying away like it got stuck inside a windstorm. 

Elianne smiled, proud of her achievement. Well, she did not really view it as an “achievement”, per se, since her dragon soul just made it natural for her. But she was still impressed by the power she had within her, even after all this time. 

She looked at Cicero. The Imperial was still staring at the wolf’s body, now bouncing on the grass due to the harsh landing, several meters away from them. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide. He looked back at Elianne. The woman maintained his gaze, waiting for him to say or do something, but he just kept staring, looking completely dumbfounded. Just as she was about to ask what he had thought of her thu’um, Cicero bursted out laughing. Not one his usual creepy, high-pitched laugh, the one that makes him sound like an asylum patient. No. This laugh sounded so genuine, so pure, so… sincere? It seemed it was also highly contagious, because Elianne could not help but to laugh too. She watched the man writhing as he choked with sounds of joy, and she laughed harder, joining him. She was not too sure what they were laughing about, but she honestly did not care.

“By Sithis,” Cicero said as he regained his breath, wiping his eyes, “I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that!”

“But what is it that made you laugh so hard?” Elianne asked, the corners of her mouth still tugging upwards, not completely recovered from the laugh attack.

“Cicero simply was not expecting that… the way the wolf just flew so violently…” He chuckled. “But please, do not misunderstand poor Cicero. It was very impressive! And I would love for you to do it again sometime! Not now, of course. Elianne needs to rest her voice. Cicero will be patient.”

The Breton chuckled slightly in response. Seeing a dead wolf fly away so suddenly could be funny, in a way, indeed. Honestly, she was just glad to have seen the man show such glee. The smile had not left his face yet, and his eyes were still shining bright. She hated to admit it, but happiness suited his face so well. She did not want to take her eyes off of him, but she forced herself to. So what if he looked good? So did Mjoll. And Elianne never got distracted by it. She was probably just emotionally exhausted, making her weaker and more vulnerable to distractions. She needed to toughen up. There were many more enemies ahead, and she was already injured on the arm. She needed to focus.

“Thank you, Cicero. We should get moving.”

They jumped back on their horses. They acquired one for Cicero at Markarth’s stable earlier this morning. A beautiful grey male with dark spots covering his sides; it was Elianne who chose it. They had not found a name for him yet, but the Imperial did not seem to care about it anyway. 

They had been riding for more than an hour when they heard the wolf in the distance and decided to stop to take care of it. They still had a long way to go.

The trip had been rather calm, so far. They had not talked much other than commenting on their surroundings, and Cicero singing. Again. Elianne was fine with it, but she truly wondered if the man ever went silent for more than two minutes in a row. Now that they were back on the road, it started all over again. 

“Do you ever shut your mouth?” she asked the jester, absent-mindedly.

He stopped and turned his head towards her. Elianne just realized that her words came out a lot more abrupt than she intended.

“Wait, no,” she said, “I didn’t mean that in a rude way, I just-”

“Oh, don’t worry, sister!” he answered, cutting her off. He giggled. “You are right, Cicero has a hard time staying quiet. I did not realize it could annoy Elianne.”

“No, it’s fine,” she rushed to say as she was starting to feel bad, “I was just wondering.”

“Yes, of course. Well, Cicero simply… prefers not to hear the silence!”

“What’s wrong with silence?”

“Ah, nothing to be concerned about. Cicero is just…” He sighed. “Tired of hearing it.”

“Didn’t know it was possible to  _ hear _ silence.”

“Well, when it’s been your only companion for years, you start to hear it, believe poor Cicero when he says that.”

Oh. Right. Elianne just remembered about his time in isolation with the Night Mother. She knew it must have been terrible to spend years alone, with no company, but the silence or the noise were not things she had considered when imagining this. They weren’t even things she noticed or thought about, in general. However, bringing it up made her curious, and she thought of her home. It was definitely noisy. Pretty crowded also: two kids, a steward, a bard, and a pet rabbit. Probably the polar opposite atmosphere of Cicero’s life in the past years. A life she wouldn’t have wanted at all. Her Sovngarde and Apocrypha trauma looked like a walk in the park compared to what the Fool went through.

Elianne waited a while before answering, as if talking about silence just summoned it.

“I guess, when you put it like that, I’ve been taking my noisy home for granted.”

“Hmmm…Well, Cicero doesn’t find the Falkreath Sanctuary  _ that  _ noisy…”

“The Sanctu-...oh! No, I wasn’t talking about the Sanctuary, I was talking about my other home. The one where my family lives.”

Cicero’s forehead wrinkled as he knitted his eyebrows. “But isn’t your family the Brotherhood?”

The woman had to restrain her eyes from rolling. She knew the members of the Brotherhood considered themselves family, even going so far as to calling each other “brother” and “sister”. She would have probably found this very cute and endearing if it wasn’t coming from an association of murderers. To her, it just made it even more creepy.

Cicero being the most hardcore member of a guild she had ever seen, he was, of course, no exception to the rule. 

“Of course,” she lied, “The Brotherhood is my new family in a way.” She wanted to vomit just uttering these words out loud. “But, I still have my… initial family. Like, the one I had before entering the Brotherhood.”

“Ah… Ah! Right!” He laughed. “Cicero has been in the Brotherhood for so long, he almost forgot about…  _ that _ kind of family!”

Elianne didn’t know whether she wanted to cry or laugh at that remark. However, it did make sense coming from someone like him. She assumed it would be pretty common for assassins to form their own semblance of a family among their peers.

“Tell Cicero about your other family. Are they… blood-related? Biological?”

The woman found it funny how he said that, almost as if it was uncommon. 

“No,” she answered. “I don’t have any blood-related family members that I’m aware of since I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Ah! Yes, I remember Elianne told him that yesterday. So what is your family? A husband and kids? A wife and kids? Just a wife? Just a husband?”

She almost choked at the mention of a “husband” or “wife”.

“Uh, none of these options,” she answered. “I have two daughters, but no husband and no wife. They were two homeless orphan girls that I helped during my adventures and… grew attached to. So I decided to adopt them. Give them a home.”

“Oh, so Elianne is a single mother! How sweet! But… dear sister, how old are your children?”

“Lucia is 6 and Sofie just turned 11.”

“Oh, they're no babies! Cicero was 11 when he did his first kill. A stupid bandit who would’t leave poor Cicero alone! Ah… yes. A fun time."

He peered at his dagger to his side, almost with nostalgia in his eyes. Elianne found it quite unsettling to know the man has been a killer since childhood, but she also understood that it was sometimes necessary to survive, depending on the circumstances. She found it safe to assume his childhood might not have been easy...

"Well,” the woman continued, “my girls have never killed, as far as I know, but I make sure Gregor teaches them how to defend themselves."

"And Gregor being whom?" Cicero asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The housecarl of the manor I bought for us. He protects them and the house, and trains them everyday. They also live with Oriella, a bard who teaches them music, art and anything she deems important. I trust her for that. Her and Gregor share the housework when I am not around."

"Oh! I see. So they are not left alone when Elianne is away for adventuring! And, most importantly, killing!

"...Well of course I don’t leave them alone. I may not be able to carry out my mother role perfectly since I’m always away, but at least I can give them a roof to sleep under, food, fresh clothes, a bath, an education and safety."

Cicero stayed silent for a moment, looking in the distance, then directed his gaze at Elianne.

"I hope they are grateful, Sister," he said.

"Yes," the Breton answered, "they always tell me how lucky they are to have me."

The man looked down for a moment.

"Cicero wishes someone would have done the same for him, when he was a child."

Elianne tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brows, looking at Cicero. Was he about to reveal something to her? She did not expect him to share anything in that regard, especially since he shut down so abruptly the day before, when she asked him how he got into the Brotherhood. Was it this easy to make him open up? To talk about her family?

"Wait," she started, "were you also-"

"An orphan?" he cut her before laughing loudly. "No, Cicero was no orphan. But he sometimes wished he was."

Okay, what the fuck?

“But you had parents, right?”

“Parents? Oh, I guess they could be called that. If they were even there.”

Just as Elianne was about to ask for specification, Cicero started speaking again:

"Ah, but it doesn’t matter. The past is beyond Cicero, now. No more thinking of this."

And he closed himself up again, as easily as he had opened. The woman was even more confused than she was before. So, the Fool had a life before the Brotherhood, a family of some sort, with parents. What could they have possibly done to him to make him become the mad man he was now? She was not even sure she wanted to know. The more she learned about him, the more logical it seemed that he was a fool.

They both kept quiet for a moment, as they trotted along on their horses, the atmosphere now being a bit awkward. Cicero was not even singing or whistling. It felt odd.

“Sing for me,” Elianne demanded. 

“Cicero thought Elianne was tired of hearing him singing earlier.”

“I was not! I was just wondering why you never stopped. But I don’t mind it.  _ Yet _ . Believe me, I’ll let you know when I want you to stop.”

  
  


They spent the rest of the ride exchanging turns in singing songs from their hometown, or singing together the most well-known ones. Elianne enjoyed it a lot: it was nice to spend a moment having fun, not worrying about everything, as usual. They had to stop a couple times to take care of wild bears or wolves, but it was quite a calm ride. When they passed Fort Greymoor, Elianne told Cicero of her plan to split ways for the night and, while the man did not seem to understand why she would agree to waste so much time just for that, he did not argue. Elianne had agreed to meet him back in Whiterun in the morning.

It felt weird to ride alone for the last hour or two when she had spent the entire day with someone, but she still welcomed the silence nonetheless.

When she arrived home, she was surprised to see a horse already tethered at the little stables in front of the house. They had a visitor? As she approached the creature, she started recognizing it. Tosh! It was Mjoll’s horse (Named after Akatosh). She got off Nin, settled her down at the stables next to her equine friend and rushed to the front door. She felt her stomach churning inside, and her heart was beating so hard, she could feel the vibrations throughout her entire body. She did not know whether she was scared, excited, or both. She finally opened the front door, and saw the lioness at the dinner table, playing cards with the girls. The Nord woman turned her head towards Elianne, smiled, then immediately got up, running to her. 

“Mjoll!” the Breton exclaimed as she embraced her friend. It was hard to explain what she felt in that moment. Part of her naturally calmed down at the woman’s touch, but another part of her still felt extremely clenched, weirdly nervous. 

“You received my letter?” Elianne asked her, her face buried in the Nord’s hair. She could not be that mad at her if she ran towards her and hugged her like that, right? Whatever the case, she did not completely abandon her, and she was glad to have that, at least.

“I did,” Mjoll answered, still hugging her tight. “We need to talk.”

Elianne slowly left her embrace, and barely had time to speak before she was attacked by hugs from her daughters.

“Mama!”

“We missed you, Mama!”

“Did you bring us anything?”

She found a sweet roll and a creme treat in her bag of provision and gifted the pastries to them.

“You girls finish your treats and card game with Mjoll. I will have a bath while waiting for you. Then I’ll need to talk to her in private.”

“It’s for the wedding,” the lioness added, “a secret”.

  
  


They all agreed and went back to what they were doing. Elianne took her time washing herself up, trying to let the hot water calm her down, but she was simply not able to relax. Of course, Mjoll couldn’t have taken it this badly… but she still came in person to give a response to Elianne, which meant it would be a pretty serious discussion…

She was sitting in the tub, her arms wrapped around her legs, looking mindlessly at the bubbly water when the door opened. Elianne turned her head to see Mjoll entering the bath chambers. The Nord woman closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the tub Elianne was in.

“Hey,” she said softly, looking back down at her reflection in the water.

“Hey.”

Elianne sighed. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Frankly, me neither. That’s why I came in person. I wasted so much parchment paper just trying to write an answer and then re-doing it over and over again…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop. You do not have to say sorry to me.”

“I know, i’m just… I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking...”

Mjoll let out a sigh too. “The Dark Brotherhood, Elianne, do you realize? They’re even worse than the Thief’s Guild… They’re murderers… pure and simple.”

“I’m very much aware, now... And I hate them as much as you do, believe me.”

A long moment of silence, each woman staring down, unable to maintain eye contact.

“And now you’re stuck in their ranks.”

“I am. I… I don’t know what to do, Mjoll… I feel like it’s too late… I don’t think they’d let me leave since I know where their headquarters are located, I know stuff about them…”

“No, they won’t let you out alive, that’s for sure. Your choices are limited now. Either you continue your life being an assassin with them. Either you carry out your plan. Destroying them from the inside. Either you try to flee from the Province. And even then, I can’t guarantee they won’t find you.”

It was not as if she did not know that already, but hearing Mjoll saying it to her just made it feel so much more real. She felt her eyes starting to burn and her throat tightening: she could not hold it in anymore. She started to cry. An ugly, loud, uncontrollable sob. She did not care. Mjoll had seen worse from her.

“Mjoll, what have I done?” Elianne cried out. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know if my plan will work, if I will even be able to carry it out…”

The lioness reached out her hand to stroke Elianne’s hair. “We’ll figure it out together, Ellie. I will not leave you alone through all of this. I promise.”

The Breton let her friend fondle her hair, while she continued crying, emptying out all the stress she had accumulated since then. They remained like that for a long time. Elianne was thankful for Mjoll’s patience. When she felt like she could breathe normally again, she spoke:

“I’m not blaming you for it, but I’m sure you’re judging me.”

“Am not! Ellie, you’re my best friend. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. You’ve had it rough, it wasn’t easy. But you pulled through. You’re doing the best you can with what you have, and I will never judge you for that.” She removed her hand from Elianne’s hair and put it under her chin, lifting it up so she could look her in the eyes.”

“Never, you understand?”

Elianne nodded softly, with a sad smile. Gods, she loved this woman so much. What would her life be without her?

“Now, tell me everything, so I can try to help you out.”

She told her everything. She described the Sanctuary, the members, her dislike for one member in particular (hint: it was Astrid). She also described the journey she took for her three minor contracts, and did not omit to tell her the guilt, the incomfort she still felt about those murders. Finally, she told him of Cicero. Mjoll remembered him from the other day, when they met him on the road near Loreius Farm. She was astounded, just like Elianne was, to know he was actually an assassin, and his mother was none other than the unholy Matron, the wife of Sithis. She also told her about the man’s dislike for Astrid, and how she thought he could be an ally… and she also told her major doubts about this strategy.

“But,” Mjoll said with her brows knitted, “if you team up with the Fool to destroy Astrid… You’re going to lose the leader… but the other members remain. And since they seem to follow the bitch’s every move, they would all just turn against you and Cicero.”

“Yes, that’s what I realized, earlier today. Even if we win against the rest of the members…”

“The Fool remains.” 

“Yeah. And I don’t think he plans on destroying the Brotherhood… Quite the opposite, actually.”

“So you’d have to destroy him too.”

A shiver went down Elianne’s spine.  _ Destroy Cicero _ . She could not tell what exactly, but something felt wrong with that thought.

“I…” she started to say, but interrupted herself.

“Don’t tell me you grew attached to the mad man,” Mjoll said with a slight chuckle.

“No, no, of course not!”

Staring contest.

“I do not believe you, Elianne Lamand.”

You knew it was real when Mjoll called you by your full name.

“He’s an assassin,” she continued, “a murderer… If you want to destroy the Brotherhood to make this world a better place, that means him too.”

“I know, I know! Damn. I would destroy the Fool too. Of course, I would.”

She had literally never felt less confident in a statement before, but that would have to do.

“When the time is right, you should contact me again. I can help you fight the other members. And I have friends in many places throughout Skyrim who can help. We could even ask the Penitus Oculatus… They have been trying to eliminate them for years...”

“Mjoll, I really appreciate the help, but I would prefer you take care of that before anything else.”

She pointed towards the Nord’s belly.

“Right, of course…”

“Listen. We will remain in contact. I will write to you or visit you as often as I can, and I will tell you everything. I will consult the Penitus Oculatus or other allies by myself. But, please, for the love of Mara, you need to stay home and rest. No unnecessary travelling, and ESPECIALLY no fighting. I don’t want Sofie to knit a baby blanket for nothing, that yarn was expensive, you know…” 

Elianne winked, which made Mjoll chuckle. They finally agreed to this compromise and decided to not talk about this anymore for the remainder of the evening. Elianne tried to enjoy the rest of her evening, playing cards with her friend and her daughters, then putting them to sleep with a false tale of her latest adventure. She went to sleep herself not long after, completely drained from the latest events. She felt incredibly relieved that Mjoll knew and was by her side, but she could not stop thinking about the last step of the plan.

_ Destroy Cicero. _

She did not want to kill Cicero. And that was EXACTLY what made her confused. This mad man was a murderer, a danger to society. The kind of person she would have normally slayed without any hesitation, no question asked. So why was it any different with him? Why was the thought of killing him so uncomfortable to her? More than uncomfortable, it seemed… wrong. Painful, even. Was it because she took the time to talk to him? Because he had been nice to her? No, those were not valid reasons! He was not better than any other assassin. He was just as bad as the others. No matter how entertaining he could be.

She had no choice. She had to toughen up, and be a big girl. Forget her emotions, forget her biases. She had to do it. She needed to.

The words were still ringing inside her head, and she could not stop hearing them:

_ Destroy. _

C

I

C

E

R

O.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that chapter, there was a lot of dialogue (personally, dialogues are my favorite parts of stories)!  
> Please, as usual, feel free to leave comments, suggestions, criticism. I want to improve my craft!
> 
> Also, I made a playlist for this fic on spotify, the link is in the notes of chapter 1. Each song represents a chapter. :)
> 
> \---------------------------------------
> 
> Chapter title inspired by: https://youtu.be/93c2q2GCUNU  
> I chose this song for this chapter, because I feel like the mix of metal and a sweet cute melody is lowkey a metaphor for Elianne's mind at the moment: Destroying the Brotherhood would make the world a better place, and she want to "save the world", but the idea of destroying Cicero doesn't seem right. And if she doesn't, she is stuck inside the guild forever, living with so much blood of so many innocents on her hands.


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